Where Dark Meets Light
by Vytina
Summary: In the face of her past mistakes, Christine must choose if lies are easier to accept or if the truth is easier to live.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I return to offer yet another **_**Phantom of the Opera**_** piece for my beloved readers. Like my others, this one is based more around the movie's version of events with some details from Webber's musical tossed in the mix. I consider this a "what if" scene beginning with the events that transpired in the cemetery and ending just before **_**Don Juan Triumphant**_**. **

**I will say that I am considering a sequel piece to this story, and if you as my audience would like to see such a thing written, please let me know in one of those lovely little things called a review. And don't forget to tell me what you thought about this piece too, while you're at it. Thank ye kindly!**

**Title: Where Dark Meets Light**

**Summary: In the face of her past mistakes, Christine must choose if lies are easier to accept or if the truth is easier to live.**

**Character Pairing: Erik x Christine**

**Rating: T for mild suggestive content**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events associated with **_**The Phantom of the Opera**_**. Everything belongs to their respective owners. I own only my motivation for this little story, nothing more and nothing less.**

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><p><em>We welcome passion, for the mind is briefly let off duty. <em>

_~Mignon McLaughlin_

The name _Christine Daaé_ is one that would inspire a wide variation in responses, depending upon to which random soul you offered it. If, for example, you were to speak my name to Monsieur André or Monsieur Firmin, you might receive a comment or two regarding the absurd notes they receive on a daily basis that almost always involve some command or another to cast me in the leading role of any given opera. If you were to ask Meg Giry for her opinion, she would likely return the question with an extensive list of memories that involve all the "good times" we have had as two girls growing up in the opera house dormitories—and she would probably divulge a few secrets or two in the process. And then, if you were to ask Carlotta for her opinion, you would most likely receive a reaction akin to the one a person gives when asked about the rats that live in the sewers.

My name means many things to those around me, but if you were to ask me of what _I_ thought my name was indicative, the answer is both simple and complex. I am a living and breathing contradiction. I am the embodiment of irony. I employ deceit as my ally even as I spurn its very presence in my life. I wear a mask both on and off the stage—in the public's view I am a tender woman still wrapped in the innocence and purity of youth, a precious little doll who must be handled with great care and treated like a princess. In the solitude of my heart, in those rare but beloved moments of silence where there is no one to bear witness, I am a creature thriving on the secret treasures of music, a being who lives and breathes for no other purpose but to learn all that music has to offer and thrive in each and every lesson. I will sing lulling melodies fit for the public's protected ears, but my throat aches and burns until it tastes the forbidden fruit of a different kind of music.

_His_ music.

And yet I have consistently hidden my desires behind the mask of a sweet and naïve child, for I would prefer to play the helpless coward in this story and hide myself within the lies of perfection and innocence. I am accustomed to this life—I had lived my whole life this way before _he_ came into my life and ripped away the mask that, at the time, I didn't even realize I was wearing.

Erik has that effect on people...but most especially, he has that effect on me. With nothing but a well-placed word or simple thrum of notes emitting from his organ, he can shatter the illusions which I have previously spent so much time constructing and send me spiraling into a world of nothing but music. It is a mystical world, altogether beautiful in its forbidden splendor and terrifying in its passionate construction. It is a world where rules and regulations, propriety and delicacy, and most especially innocence and purity have no place. The moment his music breaches my ears and seeps its way into my veins, I have neither the will nor the desire to play a role or wear a mask. In the throes of his music, I shed my costumes and masks and allow Christine Daaé to live freely. In his music, Christine is neither the carefree ballerina or the modest and demure opera diva; she is a passionate creature who longs to rip away the mask baring her from Erik's heart and soul—and by default, expose the blatant distortions of his face—and love the man beneath it all.

But that isn't Erik's way at all. Even he, the man who made me into such a reckless and obscenely passionate being, is not willing to offer that which I crave at the deepest root of my core. He sees only with his eyes and not his heart even when he professes otherwise. He dares to claim that I could learn to love him if I would see past the distortion of his face, but he cannot love me because of the perfection he sees etched into every inch of my body. In the face of his his fear and reluctance, I found an escape within Raoul's arms. And it was truly an escape—this meager concept of love where nothing would be required of me save perhaps a willingness to abandon music for the luxuries of a Vicomte's life.

If only it were so simple.

Even here in the solitude of a cemetery, I could not deny the music that surrounds me, heart and soul. I heard the softest little melody as I stepped through the gates and drifted through the snowy banks. The music existed around and within me—the crunch of snow beneath my feet, the whistle of wind dancing across marble angels and iron bars...even the thrum of my heartbeat inspires music to resonate forth from my lips. And even here I don't refuse the urge to sing. Let sculpted angels and buried corpses be my only audience, still I will sing and not know regret for it. To sing for an audience who will never respond to your song is an easy matter, and I allowed myself to thrive in it for those sweet moments even when my song was for grief, not joy.

But there was one living witness to my song, and the moment I heard his voice call for me was a true moment of conflict within my heart.

I can hear Erik's voice even when he offers nothing above a whisper. My heart recognizes his voice and brings me toward his presence even when it is but a disembodied melody drifting across snow-streaked stone and marble. My mind wildly beats and warns me against it, trying to turn me from him with the memory of his crimes against the opera house and the raging terror I feel in the presence of his temper. My mind has tried many times before to turn me from him...and each time it has failed. My soul hears him and answers eagerly in kind. My soul obeys him.

My soul loves him.

Ah, such a wretched contradiction am I! One moment I am drawing closer and closer to my fallen angel with my skin already aching to feel his touch and reacquaint itself with the chill of his flesh, and the next I am brought to a sudden stop by the call of another voice—Raoul. Raoul with his pristine appearance and flawless features, riding in tall and proud like the knight to the princess' aid. Raoul with his kind words but ignorant heart who sees only what he deems necessary. He heard the rumors and tales of Erik's murderous deeds and monstrous features and thus branded his soul that of a demon and a plague upon my heart and mind—a heart and mind he considers that of a helpless child in need of rescuing, and naturally _he_ is the savior I need. He is the hero, Erik is the villain, and I am the pretty princess in the middle of it all.

Poor Raoul...his greatest offense was not protecting me but in loving a piece of my heart that no longer existed.

I watched as he valiantly battled Erik across the cemetery grounds, and I could not discern a proper course of action that will not ultimately allow the darkness of my heart to penetrate the pure features of my skin. My mind implored me to remain in place and wait until the battle has reached its end, and if I held even a droplet of respectability within my senses I would rejoice if Raoul stood the victor in this senseless affair. Perhaps I would even be flattered that he was so willing to throw himself in harm's way to defend my honor—my _honor_, as though I had any such thing left!

But the call of my heart was stronger, and I followed its lead and rushed forward to never lose sight of two men viciously battling one another around my father's grave. Oh God, my dearest Papa! What would he think if he knew what his proper Christian child had become, dismissing the valiant deeds of a Vicomte for want of an disfigured outcast who could kill without a qualm and eagerly invited me to taste the sinful delights of the darkness?

I dared to lift my eyes and find Papa's face etched in marble as it had been for the last agonizing years since his death. This was hardly a fitting depiction of his face. My Papa had always smiled with warm lips and tender eyes that sparkled with his laughter. He was not so frozen and stoic as this image dared presume him to be...no, were he standing here with flesh upon his bones and blood still in his veins, he would have brought me to his arms and sang me a little song to soothe away my fears.

...and how often had Erik done the very same thing? Even now in the most inappropriate of times to be considering such things, I could vividly recall his golden voice lulling away my concerns and fears, my insecurities and even the most absurd worries I could have ever proposed to him. Patient and compassionate...that had been his way. Even after I destroyed his carefully constructed illusion of angels lingering just behind a pane of glass in my dressing room, still he had consented to forgive me if for no other reason than I had loyally returned to his side. With the mask once again in place, perhaps he believed I would not know disgust for him any longer even though I had seen what lay beneath that pristine barrier.

The truth was...I didn't know disgust for him at all, mask or no mask. In fact, I tasted only a little disappointment and frustration at the presence of his mask. After I had seen the truth, illusions no longer seemed favorable. Even if the reality wasn't the picture-perfect fantasy of my youth, it was still a reality I was more inclined to accept. Truly...I desired the truth—ugly as it was—because it was _mine_. Erik's face was mine—it belonged to me! God forgive me, I almost didn't begrudge him for killing the others who had seen his face. No one else but I had the right to see it and live.

But even as I tasted the joy of having something to call my own, I knew I did not yet have the one thing I truly wanted—his heart. I had his face, his sins, even his tears to hold and treasure, but so long as he allowed disfigurement to stand between us I would never know his heart. And if I didn't know his heart...I would never know his body. I would never taste the thrill of our bodies joined together as one, connected more deeply than two people could ever imagine. I would never know the feel of his lips against mine, the touch of his hands running through my hair and across my skin...I would never know any of it, because even if he believed we could know physical pleasures without him exposing what was left of his heart, I wouldn't allow it. Having his body would mean nothing if I couldn't have his heart.

The question still remained...did he have mine? _Could_ he have mine, without restraint or bargain or condition? Could I let myself be strong enough to give him all of me and never regret any of it?

My thoughts were forcefully interrupted—perhaps for the better—as I watched Raoul suddenly gain the upper hand and throw Erik off balance to the ground. Snow flew about, tossed by the forceful kick of Raoul's boot as he shoved Erik's sword aside and simultaneously raised his own with a cry of rage.

I have always considered myself a cautious child, always thinking before I allowed myself to act. But since I met Erik, that seemed to change. I don't think I ever fully considered the consequences of my actions before I accepted his invitation down into the depths of the opera house, and I certainly didn't stop and think before I removed his mask. He had broken down my previously rational thought processes and left only impulse to control my actions. It was a dangerous way to live, especially when so many of the actions I was inspired to take held their own array of consequences.

But in this moment, the consequences were left unconsidered as my heart spurred my body forward into action. Snow leaped about my feet as I rushed toward Erik—not Raoul, Erik...always Erik—with my mind only briefly, faintly registering that I was putting myself directly in the path of a sword.

Unconcerned for the complete impropriety of the situation, I threw myself across Erik's vulnerable frame. The thick wool of my cloak fell across his thighs and pooled around my dress as I knelt beside my teacher and used my upper body to protect him. My curls fell loose of their bonds and tumbled across his face, and I heard a soft sigh as he learned their texture against his unmarked cheek. Had the situation been different, I might have smiled to know I had managed to bring him even the slightest taste of joy. I could hear bliss in the exhales of breath he let fall upon my skin, and I was humbled to think he could taste such things in the wake of senseless rage that had driven him half-mad over these last few months.

"Christine, are you mad?" Raoul demanded, looking completely incredulous at my behavior, yet I returned his disconcerted expression with defiance and determination. I could question the motives behind my actions later. All that mattered now was keeping Erik safe from that blade. "Stand back before you get hurt!"

I shook my head even as a tremble coursed through my frame—the unfortunate curse of uncertainty still clung to my senses and demanded me to take refuge behind Raoul as any innocent maiden ought to. I had nothing else to combat such fear save the feel of Erik's body brushing against mine. It wasn't enough, and I curled my fingers in the rough material of his suit jacket for need of tangible proof that he was here, still living and breathing and not pierced through the heart by unforgiving steel.

Almost ghostlike, I felt his gloved hand cup my elbow. The touch was discrete, hidden by the thick veil of my hair that fell about our bodies in a shroud not even Raoul could peer through. For a moment, I could hardly believe it even as it elated and thrilled my nerves more intimately than a passionate kiss or lustful touch. My heart thrummed wildly within my heart to finally feel his touch again...God, it had been too long.

"Christine, move!" Raoul again demanded me to do the very thing I had absolutely no intention of doing. My heart and mind felt at peace here, suspended in this one precious moment where even with the Vicomte in our midst we could savor each others' presence. To break such a precious moment was unthinkable, and I wanted to curse Raoul for trying.

But words failed me in this moment, and perhaps they were ultimately useless. If words were not woven into song, what purpose could they possibly serve?

I allowed silence to speak for me as I met Raoul's furious gaze, and in place of my voice I only shook my head. If he still wanted to kill Erik, he would have to send that blade through my heart first.

"Christine!" he took hold of my arm this time and tried to pry me away, "Christine, for God's sake—"

The very sight of his hands upon me spurred Erik to action, and Raoul's extended hand was quickly seized in a vice-like grip that drew a startled gasp from the Vicomte before he was hurled down to the snow. I obediently slipped back as Erik stood and regained his defined posture as the Opera Ghost, mismatched eyes burning down upon Raoul with unmistakable hatred.

"Leave, Vicomte," his voice was cold and burned against my ears as though I were the true recipient of his hate—and perhaps I was, "Leave before your life is nothing more than another stain upon my hands."

Raoul called out for me again, still playing the noble hero, but I kept my eyes trained on Erik's face while grieving that he would not return my gaze. It would have been less painful if he'd struck me across the face.

My silence served as answer enough for Raoul, and after a brief moment I heard him leave just as he'd come in—still proud and stubborn and believing he was doing the right thing by forcing Erik from my life. I knew this affair was not concluded, and I dreaded having to return to the opera house and dealing with him again.

Trying to find solace I reached for Erik's arm, only to watch as he ripped it from my hold and faced me with his unmarked features twisted in his anguish. I felt sick just looking at it. Only a few months earlier, he had never looked at me with anything less than reverence and adoration. Now his features held nothing but anger and frustration as he surveyed me on the snowy ground. Once, only for a fleeting moment, his expression softened as he witnessed the sheen of tears across my eyes. But as soon as I blinked it was gone, and there was only anger to be seen.

"Spare me your pity, Christine." he hissed, and I visibly trembled at the venomous sound, "I have no use for it."

He turned and fled back to the shadows as though he truly belonged in their presence, as though he were still only phantom and not the man I knew. It would have been the act of a woman with common sense and rationality still on her side to flee in turn and ride back to the security of the opera house as though this horrid moment never existed. It was the act of a fool to follow Erik when knowledge of what lay within those shadows was lost to the mind and could easily mean death or some unimaginable torture.

Ah, yes...the fool I was.

I found myself surrounded by darkness, lost in some underground corridor to which Erik's footprints had led and then promptly disappeared within the thick shadows all around me. The cold seemed much more evident down here, and suddenly the comfort of my cloak no longer seemed enough to shield me from such a penetrating chill that seeped down into my bones and nearly rendered me immobile.

I managed to use the walls as my guide through the corridor for a little while, my ears sharply tuned to catch all sounds around me and compensate for my blindness. I reached out with one hand while using the other to anchor myself to the dirt-caked walls, searching for anything and everything that might belong to Erik—the feel of his clothes, the firm outline of his mask, even the chill of his skin. But still there was nothing.

My knees touched the ground and I felt the frozen chill even through the layers of skirts that were supposed to protect me. Quivering, I brought my arms around me, drawing the cloak even closer and trying to gather some vestiges of heat to warm my numbed body. Tears slipped down my cheeks, weighing heavy and cold on my skin. It would have been easier if they'd fallen to my lap, but instead they clung jealously to my face and forced my hand to leave the cocoon of my cloak in order to forcefully wipe them away.

An hour, a day, or perhaps only a few minutes could have passed as I sat quivering and sobbing in the darkness. Time escaped through my hands and left me without any concept of the passing minutes as they bled into hours, and I longed for the warmth of candlelight dancing across my skin while the long fingers of a passionate musician followed with purposeful and intoxicating caresses to my face, my throat and shoulders...my arms and waist...

Once again, darkness bid me to shed the mask of propriety and respectable innocence, and once again I obeyed without hesitation. From memory I summoned the third act aria from Erik's _Don Juan_ without difficulty; of all the scores written across that paper in his elegant scrawl, the duet was the one that rang through my every waking thought as though my sole purpose in life was to memorize and practice every single line until I could be on that stage and allow the notes to take flight. But even then it wouldn't be the same...I was supposed to sing that beautiful and overwhelmingly passionate aria with _Piangi_, of all people! The very memories stirred by yesterday's rehearsal left me shuddering and repulsed to think I was expected to endure such torture.

Forcing away the unpleasant recollection of Piangi's large and meaty hands sputtering about on my body while he massacred Erik's notes, I sought the erratic thrum of my heartbeat to give my voice the strength it needed to lift in music-less melody. At the very thought of singing this melody once again, my pulse slowed to a softer beat and with it my confidence grew. Even if I was singing to shadows and faceless beings that may or may not still lurk about in the dark, I would sing all the same. Music was the purest component of my very soul, and without it I was truly nothing.

The words felt light upon my tongue as they resonated throughout the corridor. In the darkness I could hear my voice as I had never heard before, and it was strong and confident with every chord and note that existed only in my head and within my ears. In the darkness, I was not the frightened and indecisive maiden or a heartbroken lady weeping for lost love. I was Aminta, the woman once lost and now found through the temptation of a love that promised to draw her within its depths and never again release her. If only I could have been so confident and strong as to accept such a promise, for it had once been a very _real_ promise in my life before I'd allowed fear to control my heart and throw me into Raoul's arms.

With Aminta's courage as my own, even if only for a fleeting moment, I threw myself wholeheartedly into the aria and extended my arms to a faceless lover. In the darkness I could still pretend that a man of flesh and blood stood there before me, half of his features left exposed and untouched by Fate's cruel hand, the other half of his face disguised behind a pristine facade of white that could penetrate even the thickest shadows. In my mind's eye, I could see those features that I loved and adored, and my fingers extended to touch them and rip away every last barrier until my skin could touch his mangled flesh and claim it as my own.

A gloved hand caught mine in the darkness with long fingers curling around to entrap my small palm in its hold, and the voice of an angel lifted to meet mine.

Oh God...yes, yes, _yes_! This was how it was meant to be! Of course Erik hadn't written Don Juan's role with Piangi envisioned—it was supposed to be _him_! Erik was supposed to be on that stage singing with me, caressing me with his touch and seducing me with his voice. It was supposed to be Erik's hands upon my skin with his lips lingering so close to my ears while I melted against his body. It was supposed to be Erik...only Erik, always Erik, forever Erik!

I forced my fingers between his, fiercely clutching his hand in my hold and bringing myself closer with that single connection as my guide. I left the security of the wall and drifted forward into the darkness to be closer to my teacher, but when I was expecting to find the solid structure of his body within a few short steps, I instead found myself moving ever forward. Only a moment later, I finally understood. Erik was leading me through the corridor—his eyes knew and welcomed the familiarity of the darkness when mine were rendered blind and vulnerable without a trace of light to aid me. His hand held mine firm and close with no intention of letting me go, still lifting his voice to mingle and entwine with mine as we moved as one down the corridor. I knew no fear as he led me away; I trusted him completely.

As the duet faded away, my eyes caught the glimmer of light dancing across a transparent surface...a mirror? Yes, of course! It was the mirror to my dressing room. Had such a long journey really passed so quickly? It didn't seem possible, and I would have been lying if I'd denied a prick of disappointment to think this blissful moment was now to come to an end.

"Here," Erik's voice startled me a bit; he hadn't actually spoken the entire way here, only sung with that golden voice and encouraged my absurd fantasy that we were in fact Don Juan and Aminta proclaiming love and lust all in one glorious aria. "You seem quite ready for your performance tomorrow night, and I expect nothing less than what you just demonstrated."

"I don't want to sing with Piangi." I whispered, shuddering slightly at the very thought of it. My fingers clutched at his arm and pulled his surprisingly willing body toward me. My free hand cupped his unmarked cheek and I relished a soft gasp from his lips at the soft touch. "I want to sing with _you_, _ange_. That duet is meant to be ours...we're supposed to be on that stage together!"

"Piangi is cast as Don Juan, just as you are cast for Aminta." he answered quietly, and even in flickering light I knew his eyes were avoiding my gaze. "You will sing with him, as the script calls. Do not entertain your childish dreams any longer, Christine. Cold and unfeeling though it is, reality is the path which beckons you now, not broken illusions and shattered dreams."

"How can you stand there and deny this?" I was incredulous even as I was furious with his blatant indifference toward me after I had saved his life only a few hours ago. Curse the man's pride and stubbornness! "This is _your_ opera, your dream and life's work! You deserve to be on that stage and be recognized for your brilliance, and you deserve to be singing _your_ role as it was meant to be sung!"

His silence only grated my nerves all the more, and unable to think of anything dignified or polite to further say, I forced his face down to meet my gaze. "Or are you so disgusted with me that you no longer even taste the flame of desire that declares you are mine and I am yours?"

His hands abruptly caught me around the shoulders and yanked me forward. I started a bit at the sudden spark of his temper, but I held my defiance and meet his smoldering glare without hesitation. I was not about to cower away from him and let him think for a moment that he would play a victim of my rejection again.

"If only I didn't!" he snarled, fingers digging mercilessly down into my skin even through the silk of my dress sleeves, "If only I couldn't taste it anymore! If only my heart would know nothing but disgust and loathing for you so that I might break you and rid myself of your sadism once and for all! If only I could so easily ignore the way it feels to sing with you, Christine...if only you would stop tormenting me with these fleeting tastes of hope and let me wallow in my pitiful existence without interference!"

"If only _I_ could return such sentiments!" I didn't bother deny my temper this time, not when it might actually startle him enough to let me say what needed to be said. "If only I could so easily be rid of you the way you are rid of me!"

"Do I _sound_ like I am rid of you, Christine!" he was practically shouting now, and it would be a wonder if no one came bursting through the door to investigate. "Do I sound like I have rid my heart of this cursed infection you buried inside me and left to fester until it has consumed every last piece of me? By God, if only it were so easy!"

"Of course," I said coldly, "Because it's far safer to hate me than to love me, isn't it?"

"I once thought it impossible to hate you, Christine..." his voice lowered to a whisper, eyes boring down into mine and briefly distracting me with their intensity, "I truly believed it impossible to consider ever despising you, but you have only left me with the most intense and poisonous hate in place of love. I hope you are pleased with yourself, now that you have seen just what you've done to me. I was fully prepared to slit your Vicomte's throat today."

"Was that before or after I put myself between your heart and his blade?" I was viciously satisfied to see how my words surprised him, but he was quickly back on the offense in the moment it took me to blink.

"Kindly don't remind me of your little self-righteous stance." he replied coldly, releasing me and sliding the mirror open in a silent but unmistakable command for me to leave his presence. "I told you before, Christine...spare me your pity. I have no need nor desire for it."

My body finally free to move, I followed impulse without concern for the consequences and closed the distance between us. My hands cradled his cheeks as the fingers of my left hand fitted around the edges of his mask and ripped it away. And even as I felt his body tense in shame and rage, I gave it no passing thought and instead brought my lips to his.

They were misshapen, distorted into a bloated and swollen arch that felt strange against my softer and smoother lips, but as I continued to kiss him and learned their texture it seemed less and less of a blatant disfigurement and more natural. His scarred cheek was rough and foreign to my fingertips at first touch, but even still I relished the touch—I had never been able to touch him before this moment, only look upon those ravaged features and be denied the feel of them on my skin. This kiss offered me the moment I most desired, a suspended sense of bliss where nothing else had to exist...only us.

I longed to open my eyes and see him, but it was only in this darkness that he was confident enough to succumb to his suppressed desires and fully return my kiss. I would have to allow touch to be my source of sight for now, and I was delighted to feel him lean into the touch instead of spurning it. His hands slid around to grasp me close by the small of my back, and I released a moan at the feel of hard planes of flesh pressed to my curves. Before he could interpret it as a cry of disgust, I resumed the kiss and in that gesture plead for more...even when I knew this moment couldn't last.

It was Erik who broke the kiss first, and while my lungs rejoiced in the feel of air once again filling their caverns I was left with lips tingling and needing to feel his again. But the moment was lost as I heard Madame Giry knocking upon my door. Still I was not content to let the moment die so quickly, and I brought my lips to his once more before I had to step into the light and resume my facade once more.

"Even if you dare not believe it," I whispered against his lips, knowing they still burned as mine did. "You know it was not pity."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I return to offer yet another **_**Phantom of the Opera**_** piece for my beloved readers. While the first chapter held roots in the movie version, the rest of this story will most likely focus on the musical adaptation as well as some slight creative license on my part. **

**I want to offer a big thanks to my readers in encouraging me to continue this story. My gratitude is especially extended to BLCNguyen, whose review on Chapter 1 brought a bright light to my day. Thank you all for your reviews, and here is chapter 2 for your reading pleasure. Again, please leave a little review when you're done.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events associated with **_**The Phantom of the Opera**_**. Everything belongs to their respective owners. I own only my motivation for this little story, nothing more and nothing less.**

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><p>My last glimpse of Erik was his eyes, bright and dark all at once with emotions ranging from confusion to beatific understanding, from distrust and doubt to elation and the teasing fragments of hope that still lingered within his heart. How it amazed me to think I could bring even the tiniest taste of happiness back to his heart after I had destroyed it so thoroughly. Yet even still, I could not help but fear he might revert to his despair and self-inflicted anguish...it seemed much easier for him to accept even when the truth was hardly so bleak as he would believe.<p>

As his mismatched eyes met mine for what had seemed a blissful eternity, I sought my voice for even the softest words to grace his ears before they were to be consumed once again by silence. But I found nothing to offer him, and in the passing moment it took me to blink, he was gone and I was alone once again.

I purposefully lost track of time while I stood in my dressing room with Madame Giry and the seamstress, the latter busying herself with the final alterations needed for my costume while the former stood silently in the corner and kept her gaze on my face. I could practically feel her drawing away every poorly construed facade I had to offer and leaving only the mess of emotions to be seen. Perhaps with her all-knowing gaze, she could see the raw desperation I harbored to be rid of all others' company, flee down to the catacombs and force my way into Erik's arms. I could only pray she did not see my darker desires and know that I was fully prepared to use Erik's passionate hunger for me against him in the event that he refused to touch me. The true sinner I must be to so willingly and eagerly consider such actions.

But they held such a terribly inviting appeal...

"Here you are, mam'selle," the seamstress, whose name had passed through my ears without leaving much of an impression, "Everything should be perfect for tomorrow night. And if I may say, you look...lovely! Yes, just lovely!"

I barely restrained a scoff at her half-hearted attempt to sound enthusiastic about the dress she'd been hemming. Even considering the less-than-reputable outfits I had previously donned as a dancer, the ones for this production was quite well and beyond anything I had ever worn in my life. The cast and crew alike had been making commentaries on the scandalous array of costumes necessary to meet Erik's rigid instructions, but I suppose Aminta's attire was the most disgraceful of all. And as I took careful stock of myself in the full-length mirror, turning slowly in place so as not to miss a single glimpse of my reflection, I could understand the seamstress' disconcerted regard for the dress. It was quite unlike anything she had ever fashioned for me before.

And I loved it.

"That will do," Madame Giry's voice startled me a bit; she hadn't uttered a word since she'd joined the other in my dressing room and taken up temporary residence in the corner. "Leave us now...Miss Daaé needs her rest for tomorrow evening."

A sharp rap of her cane followed her words, and her commands were followed just as rapidly and silently as we ballerinas had done. This was one woman you did not question no matter how great you considered the indignity of her instructions.

Madame set her hand upon my shoulder, and even when I desired nothing more than to be alone I savored her touch. It was like that of a mother...and that was something of which I held little memory. Over the long years since my father's death I had grown quite familiar with this touch, yet still it always managed to hold a novel sensation for me no matter how often it was received. I doubted I would ever tire of it...just as sure as I was Erik's touch to be one with which I could never grow tired.

"You have had a long day, my dear." she murmured while casually tucking a few loose curls over my shoulder. "I think it best you retire to the dormitories for the night. You are in no condition to be journeying elsewhere tonight."

She was right about that, to say the least. I was quite tired from today's events, but even so I wondered how much sleep I would actually receive tonight with my thoughts so completely occupied with other matters. Perhaps sleeping in the old dormitories and not in my supposed fiancee's manor might bring me some peace of mind, knowing I would still be in the opera house and ever the closer to Erik's presence.

Madame walked me down the hallways, her boots echoing about the abandoned corridors and reminding me that few people lingered about the opera house in the evening hours when the infamous phantom could be lurking around every corner. And yet I was most assuredly not one of these, for the very thought of Erik being down below in his solitude brought an ache to my heart even when I had shared his company only hours ago. What I would give to glimpse the pristine white of his mask in the darkness and know my angel was still keeping watch over me. But it was a fool's wish, and I was ever more the fool to keep lifting my eyes to the rafters in search of him.

Thoughts of fallen angels lingering above were suddenly taken by a familiar voice emitting from the adjacent hallway...Raoul? Yes, it was him...and with him were the voices of our managers. What on earth were they doing here at this hour?

Granted, it was not terribly late, but even so...what business could they possibly have at this time with the new production only a span of hours away from premiering? More importantly, what business matter was so private that it had to be conducted in the secrecy of an abandoned corridor?

A terrible thought struck me, and with it my blood ran cold through my veins. I nearly trembled in place, and Madame must have noticed, for she set her palm upon my cheek and brow before stepping forward to examine me with her piercing yet motherly gaze. "Christine? Child, what is it?"

I gave no answer but instead hurried closer to the corridor, pressing my ear to the wall's corner in order to listen better without yet giving away my presence. I happened to catch the last remnants of something Monsieur Firmin was saying that included the words "we're listening" and "go on", which was simultaneously added by Monsieur André.

"If he wishes to play this game, then we shall play it on such terms." Raoul said calmly—too calmly, "We will continue with the production just as he's commanded. But remember, gentlemen," he added before the anticipated protests could be heard from either man, "we hold the ace. The winning card for this game is in our hands, not his."

"And just what is that?" Monsieur Firmin scoffed, sounding as though he saw nothing but nonsense in Raoul's words.

"If Miss Daaé sings," Raoul continued, "you can be sure our clever friend will attend. And when he does, we will be waiting for him...along with no less than a dozen armed _gendarme_ to aid us in this endeavor."

My heart caught tight in my throat and momentarily prevented me from drawing in breath, but engaging in something as utterly trivial as breathing seemed ludicrous when my mind was better suited to fully comprehend just what I was hearing. God, this could not be...please let some higher power say it was not so! Raoul was most assuredly bitter over the earlier affair in the cemetery, but surely he would not resort to murder!

My heart overrode what little illusions my mind still carried for Raoul's innocence in the matter. It was his blade that had nearly pierced Erik's heart today...and mine as well, even if by default. I would have liked to keep my childhood friend as pure and pristine as others imagined him to be, try and convince myself that he had only been driven to such action for my sake. But I could not entirely rule out the possibility that there was something deeper to this whole affair.

"...how can you be certain that Miss Daaé will in fact perform?" André inquired, sounding quite anxious about the entire matter. "I can't say I would half blame her if she chose to forgo her role entirely."

"Christine will sing if I ask it of her." Raoul replied will full confidence, "Rest assured, gentlemen...she will not refuse me."

My blood sparked alive within my veins, rushing hot and fast from my heart to my brain and leaving me slightly disoriented in the sudden wake of my temper. I would not refuse _him_? How arrogant could he possibly be? Did he honestly think after our cemetery encounter that I was incapable of denying him any request? I'd refused him not once but **twice** today! He had been driven to physically pry me away from Erik because I _had_ refused him, and he had the gall to presume I would sing if he _asked it of me_?

How dare he...? _Erik_ was the only man for whom I was incapable of denying even the smallest request, perhaps to a fault in some regards. Yet all the same, I had never regretted complying with any request from Erik, which may have stemmed from the simple fact that Erik rarely asked anything of me, save for companionship and the simple pleasure of my company. Small and meager demands when I knew his desires amounted to much more. The thought alone of what he could ask but never did humbled me all the more.

My hands shook as I tried to occupy them and smooth untamed curls back from my face and neck while drawing in silent breaths in a futile attempt to calm my fury. Madame had not left my side this entire time, and when I turned to find her eyes set upon my face, her understanding radiated from her gaze alone. Never before had I considered it so, but perhaps she was the only person who could possibly understand a fraction of what I was thinking and feeling in this moment. She might not comprehend the magnitude of my feelings for Erik, but somehow I knew she would not judge me for them. And I knew she would not question or frown upon any actions that resulted from those feelings.

"I cannot allow this." I breathed, more to myself than her, but for some strange reason I was glad to have her ears bear witness to my words. It made them feel all the more tangible and not from some fantasy I had contrived with the image of myself as a strong and determined woman, not the meek little princess I had been in recent months. "I cannot lose him again...not like this."

Perhaps I was imagining things, but I would happily swear I witnessed a gleam of relief—or at least approval—within her dark eyes before she calmly nodded. "Then go, child." she replied quietly, "Only remember that your words mean little without the conviction of actions behind them."

I knew she was right...my words had been the very tool of betrayal with which I had shattered Erik's every hope and dream, and yet I would have liked to think that in those precious moments I had spent in his company, words had meant more than just an empty set of promises. And they had not been without conviction, for my kiss should have affirmed each and every word...even if he was not yet ready to believe it.

I waited patiently until the managers had shuffled down the darkened corridor, and then I stepped around the corner to face the Vicomte. This was was somewhat better lit, though not by much. Even so, it was only Raoul who needed a long moment to properly discern who it was in dim and flickering light. My eyes were steadily growing accustomed to darkness, and while my skills paled in comparison to Erik's, I was not nearly as blind in the absence of light as Raoul. While it took me only a moment to properly discern every feature of my fiancee, from his pristine suit to combed hair, his eyes required much longer to recognize me. Yet the moment he did...it was as though roles were immediately set back into place, with him cast as the adoring lover into whose arms I was supposed to fall.

"Christine!" he strode forward with arms already extending to me and perfect smile set in place, "_There_ you are. I've been looking all over for you!"

_No doubt of that_. I bit my tongue quietly and sidestepped his intended embrace to fix him with a look. "Were you?"

"Yes," he nodded, settling for my hand if he could not have the rest of me in his hold, "I wanted to see if you were free of that monster's spell. Thank goodness it has passed!"

I blinked, momentarily confused and wondering if he was actually joking. The relief apparent on his face told me he was not playing a game but in fact believed every word he was saying. I almost pitied him for holding true to such an delusion. "Spell? I was under no spell, Raoul...what on earth are you talking about?"

"You must have been." he replied firmly, taking hold of my shoulders to try and look into my eyes as though he could understand even a fraction of the emotions churning within my heart. "He must have put some kind of spell upon you...there is nothing else that can explain your actions today!"

I firmly shrugged my way free of his hold, looking at him incredulously. "Are you listening to yourself?" I demanded, "Erik is not a magician or sorcerer! He's a human being, Raoul—the same as you and I!"

Raoul scoffed openly, "The same as you and I..." he repeated with disgust lacing his every word, "How naïve can you possibly be to believe such things, Christine? He is not a man but an abomination! A disgrace to mankind as a whole and a plague upon this opera house—especially upon _you_!"

"He is a _man_," I replied through tightly clenched teeth with hands curling into fists, "He is not a monstrosity or a curse, and I will not stand here and have you condemn him as such. More importantly," I cut him off before he could try and refute my words again, "I will most assuredly not be told what to do as though I am a pet!"

I watched his face carefully and was pleased to see my words earned precisely the surprised reaction for which I was hoping. "You think you can simply _ask it of me_ and I won't dare refuse you? I am not your obedient servant or some hopelessly devoted admirer, Raoul! I am entitled to my own desires without any influence from one party or another, and whether I choose to sing or not is my decision—mine and mine alone!"

"But you _are_ going to sing." he insisted, and I felt a hot twinge of irritation to know that was the only thing he'd managed to comprehend from my words. Did his ears only hear that which he wanted to hear and nothing else that didn't fit in with the tight mold of his beliefs and wishes? "You will sing because I have asked it of you—or at least, I was going to ask it of you!" his hand clasped mine tightly in what I suppose could have been a tender and loving embrace, save that it made me tremble with increasing rage toward his arrogance. "You must sing, my darling...for all our sakes."

"Indeed..." my voice felt tight and uncomfortable in my throat as I attempted to keep my temper in check. I didn't want to so easily give him the satisfaction of grating my nerves beyond repair, "I must sing and lure the monster into the trap that awaits him, right? Play the bait so you and your armed guards can shoot him down like a dog."

"Don't look at me like that, darling." He tried to pull me close again and once more found me unresponsive at best. "Surely you understand this is for us? I'm doing what is necessary to keep you safe and ensure we will have a future together without that madman hunting us down for all eternity."

I tasted the tiniest drop of pity for Raoul, seeing the earnest plea in his eyes. Of course he really believed what he was doing to be right...justified by the simple desire to keep his beloved safe. I didn't want to begrudge him that when his intentions were, in their own right, for my sake. But even so...I could not forgive him for this. Erik may have sins on his hands the likes of which I could not begin to fathom, but his reasons were completely different. His were borne from a base need to survive, and so far as I could see, Raoul's were solely to ensure I would be _his_ wife and not remain at Erik's side. A Vicomte does not lose, especially not to a disfigured murderer.

More was the pity that Raoul had already lost his prize, and he was only a fool to believe otherwise.

"I will sing." I nodded without hesitation, keeping my eyes steady and calm upon his face. "I will sing because my place is on that stage singing that duet as it was written for me. And I am meant to sing it with my partner...with Erik."

Raoul's relief and pride vanished in the moment it took me to draw breath. "You will sing because it is the only way to trap that monster." he whispered, clearly trying to keep his temper in check. I had no fear of his anger even as I continued to test it further. I stood in the face of Erik's rage on a frequent basis and never faltered. Raoul's would be no more intimidating than the temper tantrum of a child.

"Why?" I whispered, "So you can give the order to kill him in front of a full audience of innocent people?" I didn't have a desire to grant him the chance to answer, so I simply shook my head and continued on before his words could take life. I had no desire to hear them. "And you dare to call Erik the murdering monster?"

"He is!" Raoul again grabbed my shoulders, and I wished Erik would come down from the rafters to my rescue, if for no other reason that I wanted my angel to prove he would always be there keeping watch over me. "How can you stand there and defend _him_ while condemning _me_? I'm doing this to save your life!"

Perhaps a few months ago, I would have believed it—no, I _had_ believed it. I believed his every word and in doing so had allowed my mind to turn against my teacher. Had I ever considered Erik a monster, a demon, or any other such abomination before Raoul's words had met my willing ears? Of course I hadn't...God, the fool, the fool I was!

"No, you're not." I said firmly, meeting his angry gaze with resolve and determination. "You're doing this because you can't stand the idea of losing to Erik. You think a bullet will declare you the victor and you can happily proclaim triumph over the Opera Ghost...even when you know this battle has already been lost. You saw it with your own eyes today, Raoul. You saw it, but you cannot accept it as truth. It must be the work of an evil magician, for how else can the pretty princess choose a disfigured man over a perfect one?"

"You don't know what you're saying." he shook his head furiously, trying to drag me closer and bringing my feet firmly in place on solid ground. "He has bewitched you, Christine...you must open your eyes and see what he's done to you before it's too late!"

What he had done to me? Indeed...what had Erik done to me? My eyes had already been opened, my sight returned to me within the darkness of an underground corridor as I sang with a fallen angel. Even now, my heart savored the memory of our duet and eagerly yearned for a repeat performance...but this time not one buried away from the public's eye. We had to sing together on stage tomorrow night...we just had to! I would not accept his refusal any longer!

"My eyes see more than you can possibly hope to see, Raoul." I said softly, ripping myself from his hold. "You see only what is skin-deep. But I...I see the beauty underneath it all. It is that beauty that I love with all my heart, and I pray you can accept my words before you allow your heart to be broken any further. I am truly sorry that I could not return what you have given me, but that is the truth. Accept it for your sake...before you get hurt."

I did not allow him to respond, for I knew any further argument would only aggravate my temper and perhaps inspire some cruel words which I did not have the strength to apologize for. Before he could try and stop me, I had fled into the shadows with all the grace and skill I had learned from my teacher.

I felt strangely at ease here in the darkness, finding myself somehow repelled by even the dimmest light. Though perhaps it was more likely that my discomfort stemmed from the particular company in which I had previously been, and not the fact that I had been exposed to light. I may have grown to appreciate the darkness more than before, but I could still enjoy the warmth of a summer's day and the gleam of moonlight upon my skin.

Was I going to have to give that all up? I couldn't say I was ready to do so, but I also knew enough to say I wanted to live my life with Erik no matter the associated consequences. Even entertaining the thought of a blade or bullet piercing his chest and abruptly ending his life wrought an inexplicable agony within the depths of my heart, nearly crippling me with a grief that did not need to be experienced when such things were only of a tortured imagination and not reality. Yet still it remained; my argument with Raoul had dulled it only for a short time, and knowing he still believed me under Erik's spell and would thus proceed with his plan of execution made me tremble with fear.

A ridiculous yet desperate need fueled my hurried stride back to my dressing room, locking the door with shaking fingers before turning to face my mirror—a doorway in and of itself to another world just beneath this one. Fear momentarily stilled my pace forward, wondering if I could be strong enough to venture down into the catacombs and seek out my angel. I had never before entered his home without permission, and I certainly hadn't made the journey myself without his guidance. The catacombs were a winding labyrinth, a trap in their own right that could easily claim me as a victim. And Erik might not be there to save me if I were to lose myself in the darkness.

I steeled my heart. A meek and cowardly child was not a desirable role for me to assume now. In fact...I had no desire to take on _any_ role. I neither needed nor wanted to put a mask on my desires when they had been stirring within my veins ever since Erik's voice joined with mine in the cemetery. Hearing the perfection of our duet lifted my heart and soul to the highest heavens and brought my ears to hear music as I had never heard before. I honestly believed my heart would wither and fade to nothing if I was never to hear that blessed harmony again.

My hand set upon the cool glass, and with a careful breath I drew back the hidden latch and stepped into the dark corridor. The mirror slipped back into place under my direction, just in case any were to come searching for me and happen to overcome the boundary of a locked door. I was only thankful that no other could find the mirror's secret latch save myself, and a smile tugged at my lips with the memory of how hard I had plead with Erik to show me his little secret before he finally consented.

The mirror allowed a little light to stream down the hall, but it was fleeting and short-lived. The path before me was dark and potentially treacherous, and this time there was no hand reaching out to guide my way through the shadows. I was alone.

As I slowly began to make my way down into the darkness, I offered a silent vow that when I next returned to this world...I would never be alone again.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**** I proudly present chapter 3 for my beloved readers, but with a forewarning attached. This is the chapter that brought the rating up to M for sexual content. It's not the most graphic scene I have ever devised, but for those who might be less inclined to read intimate scenes, this is a warning for you. As for the rest of you, please read and don't forget a review. Thank you, thank you all!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events associated with **_**The Phantom of the Opera**_**. Everything belongs to their respective owners. I own only my motivation for this little story, nothing more and nothing less.**

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><p>The darkness of the catacombs was not something to which I was unaccustomed, not since I first allowed Erik to take me down into his world of isolation and seclusion. Yet even so, there was an element of unease as I descended down into the opera house's core. I was by birth a creature of light, born in the presence of illuminated beauty that could not by natural occurrence exist in darkness. My eyes were familiar with the wonders that Nature could offer by night and day alike—the grass swaying in the summer breeze, the waves rippling across stone and sand, the cheerful little song of birds dancing about on the winds...and of course, the stars gleaming above in an inky sky. I knew this world all too well, but there was fault in my knowledge: for much of my life, I had known only the good of a world that was not nearly as pristine and wholesome as I would have liked to believe.<p>

I was not yet ready to completely forgo the world in which I had been born, but neither was I intending to reject the world of darkness in which my fallen angel had shut himself away. My heart was already becoming so entrenched in the darkness that I could easily imagine living the rest of my life in this place of seclusion. It would not be my first preference, of course; I would miss the beauty of a sunrise and the sweet smell of rain too much. But if that fate was necessary to have Erik in my life...I suppose it was a willing sacrifice.

Then again, I suppose I was so desperate to keep him in my life that there wasn't much I didn't consider a _willing sacrifice_.

From the darkness, the outline of a hidden door appeared in a murky outline of gray. My fingertips found the latch, and I proceeded to work the door with careful hands, treating this last barrier between frigid catacombs and the warm interior of Erik's secret home with all the tenderness that one uses to handle glass. It was not from fear of alerting him to my presence; he had enough alarms set up throughout the opera house that he probably already knew I was coming—or at least, he knew _someone_ was coming. Most likely, he did in fact know it was me, for there would be no other foolish enough to venture down into this place, and the moment the door opened with a tell-tale creak, he would certainly know the identity of his visitor. No other had even been able to reach his home other than myself.

Truthfully, I was concerned for what mood I might find Erik in. Would he be confused and tormented over today's events? Would he have resumed his icy facade of anger and distrust solely for the purpose of blocking his affections out of heart and mind? Would he be enraged to know I came down here without invitation? In the days before Raoul's presence interfered in our lives, I had always been welcome here...even after I had allowed curiosity to be a damning virtue and prompt me to remove his mask. But still he had welcomed me. Returning here time and time again meant I was not so repulsed and horrified with his presence that I couldn't bear to see him again, and he had always welcomed me due to that very thought. But that was some six months ago that such a blissful time existed between us, and I was quite unsure that even my pleas for his love and kiss upon his lips would have been enough to erase the past.

In fact...I quite doubted it.

Music reached my ears as I slipped into the small gap I'd allowed for myself in the doorway, and without hesitation I moved to the designated music room. Sure enough, he was there hunched over his pipe organ. The melody was not like anything I had ever heard before...soft and slow, almost as though he were playing it absently and not with his whole attention. The thought of Erik playing any tune, no matter what it was, without dedicating his whole mind to it was unthinkable. It told me just what kind of mood I had found him in: lost in the wild realm of his thoughts.

"_Ange_?" I called for him even as I drew further into the room. I felt such peace in this room...and how could I not? This was hollowed ground for us both, this place where we became teacher and student and forgot all else save the beauty of music. So few others in this world understood just what kind of enchanting power music held for us, especially for me. In the music, I could feel Erik's love and accept it without words or actions to combat his broken soul. In the music, I could love him in spite of my past transgressions and never have to convince him otherwise. In the music, he accepted my love without hesitation and returned it with his heart and soul.

He didn't stop playing, but the way his shoulders grew tight and stiff proved he had heard my call. A moment or two passed as I watched his fingers play across ivory keys. He was not wearing gloves, and I felt the absurd need to weep for sheer joy of the sight. I was in no mood to deal with the cursed things when I wanted his bare skin against mine...in more than one way.

I shook my head clear of carnal desires and stood at his side. My heart beat frantically as I gazed upon his masked face. Even when he sat and I stood tall, he was nearly at level with me. I suddenly felt small and meek in his presence, despite all my intentions to be strong and determined now that I knew what I wanted. Uncanny was his ability to make me feel like a timid child when I wanted—and needed—to be the stronger woman.

"Erik," my hand set down on his shoulder only to have him jerk at the touch. I bit my lip so as not to allow my tears to escape at the stinging blow dealt by his rejection. He had never before acted as though my touch was poison, only savored it as though he were experiencing the touch of an angel.

An angel I was not and would never be, but nor was I some kind of devil or plague to be shunned. This was the same man who had kissed me recklessly behind only the protection of a glass mirror and the shadows of a corridor. How could he reject me now?

"Erik, don't do this." I brought myself down to my knees beside him, forcefully catching his hand away from the organ and clasping it between mine. "Don't push me away after tonight."

"For mercy's sake, Christine," his voice was ragged and hoarse as though he had taken ill in the short hours since his departure, and I nearly cringed to hear it, "don't remind me of this night. I cannot endure the memories any longer than I already have."

"What...what are you talking about?" I didn't like not understanding him...his words, his thoughts, his feelings...even when they were regularly hidden from me, I didn't like it. But I should have been able to discern at least something after being the _cause_ of those emotions!

"You think I dismiss it so easily..." he whispered, head coming to rest in his free palm with fingers tightly curled in his hair, "How it felt to sing with you and bring your voice to entwine with mine even in darkness? How it felt to have your hands upon this monstrosity and pull me to your lips? How wondrous it was to feel your lips willingly kiss mine—perfection set against misshapen atrocity? Do you really think I forget any of it, Christine? Do you think it means nothing to me?"

My thumb slowly stroked over the soft yet chilled skin of his hand, pleased when he did not pull away this time. It might have killed me to be rejected once again. "I know you do not, _ange_," I murmured, setting my brow to his hand for a brief moment. "I know...believe me, I know."

"I want to believe you." he shook his head slowly. He looked as though my touch was causing him great pain, and yet he was unable (or unwilling) to tear himself away from it. "I want to believe your words as I longed to believe your actions to be more than mere pity, Christine...but how can I trust you again? We have caused each other so much pain as of late...how can we ever atone for what we've done to one another?"

It was almost uncanny how easily he seemed to read my thoughts, or at the very least share them completely. But then again he had always been able to do so, even when perhaps I might have preferred he _not_ have such a clear gateway into my mind. With his keen ability to know me in ways no other possibly could, surely he was not at all unfamiliar with the darkness that lingered ever present within my heart. Fortunately, he didn't seem to be intent on bringing it out of me now...though perhaps he believed me too far out of his reach to even try.

The despair radiating from his words, his defeated posture...even the dull melancholy of his music spoke of his pain and suffering. It was enough to break my heart, save that I needed it to be strong when his was not. Courage came as I reached for his mask and fitted my fingers around its cold edges. Predictably, his hand shot up to seize my wrist with a desperate plea in his eyes. Ironically, I couldn't tell if his plea was for me to leave it alone and pretend as though these feelings were nothing but a strange fascination or fleeting experiment...or if he was silently begging me to prove his doubts wrong and help him to trust again.

I decided to take my chances, and with my other hand coming to cup his and soothe the grip into a loosened state, I slowly began to draw the mask away. His eyes closed almost immediately, no doubt terrified of meeting my eyes while his face was put on full display. I said nothing in response, only continued until the mask had fallen from my hand to the floor without further concern or interest for its well-being on my part.

He was shaking, and I could see thin streaks lifting across his skin from the corners of both eyes. Instinct brought my hands to cradle his cheeks and catch as many tears as possible. It broke my heart to bear witness to his grief while all at once the sight mesmerized me. My strong and proud angel who lived his life above common society with such genius in his heart and mind...and he wept for me—_because of_ me. Who else had been privy to witness his tears like this, with such innocent intimacy lingering around in the atmosphere?

His tears were mine, just like his face—distortions and all. To think he would trust me with such vulnerability after all I had done was humbling...and the very thought made my heart soar to the heavens and beyond.

I drew closer on my knees, letting my fingers touch him without hesitation or fear. The skin felt so strange in comparison to the smooth slope of his unmarked brow, cold and dead-like yet with a silken texture that I would not have otherwise believed possible. I could feel the firm hollow of his bones against my fingertips, distinct and nearly protruding against such a thin layer of skin. The outline of his inner jaw was equally clear to my eyes, and I knew if he were talking or eating now I would be able to see each and every motion of his bones through the flesh. It was unnerving at first until I considered that, beneath my own pristine appearance, my body looked exactly the same.

What was the old saying...? Ah yes..._beauty is only skin deep_. Perhaps for others, such words were true. But for Erik, it was quite the opposite. The true beauty was beneath it all, hidden from the eyes of those who were too blind and ignorant to dare search for it. I was guilty of such blindness, for the last time I had dared expose his greatest shame resulted in cries of terror while my heart fled and shunned his presence until the mask was set back in place. Now...now I could hardly consider allowing his mask to be returned when the reality was far more desirable.

My lips moved to kiss his distorted brow, and he jerked away with a strangled gasp. Both hands came to grasp my shoulders as he tried to push me away. "Christine..." he moaned helplessly, "Please don't. Don't do this, _ange_...you cannot understand what you're promising."

I smiled quietly, "Oh, but I do, Erik...I understand perfectly. It is _you_ who does not wish to accept what I am promising. You're afraid to believe it even when you know it is not from pity. You would rather believe this all to be _nothing more_ than pity, because then you can despise and condemn it. You can hate me for pitying your life and every injury you have endured, but it is not so easy to accept that in spite of every transgression committed by your hands...I still love you."

"Don't!" his voice rose sharply, and while I flinched slightly at the abrupt change, I did not release him or move so much as an inch. "Do not say that, Christine! You cannot mean it...you do not love me! You can never love me!"

"Yes, Erik...tell yourself that." I sighed quietly, shaking my head as I ran my fingers across his cheeks. "Keep reciting the lies so you may never have to taste truth. You know I love you..._I_ know you know it, even if you cannot dare believe it. You knew I don't love Raoul...else why would you come back for me? Why else would you call me back to your side unless you knew I would come and forsake Raoul in the process?"

He didn't answer, but I did not require a response. Even in his silence I knew the answer. With that knowledge as encouragement, I traced the slope of his brow and slowly wiped away the remaining tears to leave his face clean once more. As it rested between my palms, I could no longer see a difference between two distinct sides of a face, only one whole image of perfection...the kind of perfection I could never hope to call my own so long as he refused to believe me.

"Christine..." his voice shook me out of my thoughts as he brought fingertips to my cheek, "Why are you crying?"

I blinked and only then became aware of the cold weight of tears upon my face. I felt foolish to be weeping like this in front of him, but at the same time I experienced a strange sense of peace and relief. In the past few months I had spent in Raoul's company, I could not recall a single moment when I'd allowed myself to cry. It was altogether a great relief and cathartic elation.

I was not inclined to answer his question, for I barely knew the answer myself. Perhaps it was simply my heart's response to the emptiness it had endured for six long months without Erik's presence. Or...perhaps it was my heart's response to the vision I had set before me. This image that the world so ignorantly deemed from a nightmare was steadily becoming something from a fantastical dream...a vision conceived from my deepest longing and truest passions, now set before me to freely see and touch. I could scarcely believe I had once run from this face...once thought it that of a monster and not an angel sent from the heavens to give me a love I never imagined possible.

"Such beauty..." I whispered, setting the slightest pressure to his cheeks and jaw as I gazed upon him in adoring rapture, "Such perfection and wondrous beauty...this face can only be a true extension of your heart. It humbles me to be in your presence, Erik...humbles me to know I am so completely unworthy of the love and desire you hold for me, yet I cannot bear the thought of living a moment without calling this heart my own."

My brow came to rest against his, and I brushed my nose against the gaping holes he had to call a nose. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but not unpleasant. Again, I silently reminded myself that beneath cartilage and flesh, my nose was structured the same as his.

"I need you with me on that stage, Erik." I breathed as I carded my fingers through his hair and traced the slope of his neck. Beneath my touch I could feel his pulse quicken to an erratic thrum. "I cannot sing without you at my side...not when that duet is ours to sing. I beg of you, don't let Piangi take what is yours."

"The roles are cast—"

"Damn the roles that have been cast on paper!" I protested, bringing myself ever closer to him. "You were cast in that role from the moment you began to write this opera, Erik! You are Don Juan just as I am Aminta! Do not lock yourself away any longer when your greatest dream can be reality. Sing with me on that stage and prove to them once and for all that you love me and will never let me go."

His hands once again curled around my shoulders, but this time the grip was not nearly as violent as the times before. He dragged me flush against his chest, and I could see his surprise when such action was met with no resistance on my part. I could feel my face gain a slight flush with our proximity, and as I watched the wonder and intrigue stir within his eyes, I knew he could see my longing as clear as anything.

"And what would you do if I did, Christine?" his voice was barely above a whisper, so hoarse and ragged with emotion that I barely recognized it as his own. "Would you simply play another role for the masses and then flee to your Vicomte's arms upon the final curtain call? Or would you be true to your heart and remain at my side...start a new life with me and never hold regret for your choice?"

"So you do know where my heart lies." I murmured, caressing his jaw with lazy tenderness. My touch clearly affected him, as I could see the longing grow within the depths of his mismatched eyes, but his doubt was not fully gone.

"I know where your heart lies, yes." he nodded, "But I also know the fragile reality upon which your love is built. I am not the angel of your youth, Christine...nothing but a man entrenched in the shadows and broken by the cruelty of this world. I live in the darkness while you thrive in the light, and the rift between our worlds is one that cannot be so easily mended." he shook his head, tears again lifting in his eyes. "No, Christine...you may love me, but you cannot promise me the forever which I crave. Please, for both our sakes leave me to suffer my fate while you design yourself a happy ending that was never meant to be mine. I...I don't belong in that world."

"And yet you are so certain that I do." I answered, "How can you possibly believe that I am destined to exist in one world and not the other, Erik? What creature of light would so eagerly and willingly choose the darkness?"

"One who has been corrupted and poisoned by the devil." he whispered, burying his face in one long hand. "God, Christine, why can you not see what I have done to you? A world of luxury and beauty awaits you...one that I can never hope to give you. Please...just cease this torment and leave me before I hold you to your word and—"

A sharp breath escaped him as my lips firmly pressed to his throat, finding the remnants of a scar there upon the skin and quickly learning its odd texture with lips and tongue. "Oh God...Christine, stop. I beg of you, _stop_. You are destroying yourself!"

"Then destroy me, _ange_." I offered my words in nothing more than a breathless exhale, relishing the passion stirring within my veins even as my rational thought and greater sense was terrified of such overwhelming desire. "Destroy me completely and rebuild me. The Christine Daaé known by the world is nothing more than a mask to wear and a role to play. You know better, my love...so rip me open and strip away the lies until the true Christine is exposed. Break apart the mask until you find _your_ Christine within me...the one you love and desire more than any other in this world. Find the woman who will stay at your side and end her days with you...she is here, waiting for you to claim her. You need only call for her, and she will come."

"Come...yes, she will come..." he was visibly trembling now as my fingers teased along the buttons of his shirt, "But will she _stay_, Christine? Will she stay even in the face of a world that will condemn her love for a monster?"

"Yes," I answered without hesitation, drawing back only to meet his eyes so he might not accuse me of lies and deceit. "I would and I will. If your world and mine cannot be brought together, then we shall create a world of our own...we will live in a world where music reigns supreme and only a love fit for the angels themselves can exist. No more darkness...only the light of our hearts brought together to cast away the shadows. A world where my love is not built upon broken foundations but solid truth. A world," my voice grew soft as I leaned ever closer and kissed his brow, "where love does not have to exist only in music, but in the sweet reality of two hearts bound together as one."

He was shaking, but this time I knew it was not out of fear or terror. His longing was as plain and clear as anything, desire no longer a flickering ember but a raging fire lingering within the depths of his mismatched eyes. And mingled with it all was the overwhelming evidence of his love...that emotions that rang ever true and pure that it flooded my entire being with heavenly warmth, the kind of peace and tranquility I believed to be possible only when wrapped in the embrace of an angel.

"Call out for my heart, Erik..." I breathed, "Call for it...my heart and soul recognizes yours as their missing halves. It knows your love solely in the sound of your voice, and it has love to give you in return...if you will only ask for it."

His fingers came to tangle in my hair and tilt my face upward. Those beautiful eyes met mine with the blaze of poorly-contained passion lingering just beneath the surface. I was no longer content to simply look desire in the eye and be denied its taste. I wanted it...I _needed_ it. I needed him.

"Love me, Christine." Erik's voice was soft to my ears, yet every breath trembled as it met air. His hands cradled me close, fingers practically begging with their own voice to learn the feel of my skin. "Love me even when I am impossible to love. Love me when I am weak and when I am strong...when I am furious and when I am broken. Love me without regret or hesitation...without fear or hatred. I am not the handsome perfection of the Vicomte or another man, but I will love you with all that I am and can possibly hope to be. Stay by my side and help me become the man worthy of you and your love. Just...just love me."

Words were useless, and my tongue was no longer content to utilize them when these lips could be put to far better purposes. My fingers clasped around the solid column of his neck and brought him forward to meet my lips with his. The kiss was slow at first, careful and gentle so as to allow him the chance to move away if the desire to do so came about. But he only returned the kiss with hands carded in my loose curls, fingers sliding down my throat with unspeakable tenderness. The touch alone sent nerves tingling throughout my body and brought a low moan from my lips that somehow transformed into his name.

His hands slowly trailed down to the soft collar of my robe, tracing along the laced trim and ghosting over bare skin. I shivered under his touch, wondering just how much of an effect it had on him to see me little more than my nightclothes. Yet no sooner had such a curiosity passed my mind than he firmly lifted me to nearly sit in his lap. A whimper tore past my lips to feel the firm evidence of desire pressed against me with flimsy barriers to protect me. Dear God, how was it possible to do this to a man?

With hands set to either side of his face, I pressed my lips to his once more before tearing them away and kissing along from brow to temple. A soft kiss was laid to his earlobe before I found my voice again and let words seep into his ears—words meant for him and no one else.

"I'm in love with you, _ange_..." I whispered breathlessly while my hands roamed desperately and shamelessly across his body, needing to be rid of these clothing barriers as fast as possible, "I'm in love with you."

I was caught up in his arms faster than I could comprehend, lifted into his embrace and carried away to his bed chamber. I opened my eyes to take full stock of his room, finding myself in a world of black silk and simple elegance that brought a soft hitch in my breath. The texture of his sheets was utterly indulgent against my skin while complimenting the firm press of his fingers sliding down to release the knot of my robe. Discontent to wait any longer than necessary, my own hands worked to remove the garment myself before going to finish work on his shirt and jacket. I caught the look of apprehension in his eyes, but I had already tasted the evidence of one scar upon his neck. I knew there would be more—it was just short of impossible to consider there would not be more present after his wretched life.

Even so...I wasn't entirely prepared for what I uncovered.

My fingers slowly trailed down a few of the many scars that were scattered across his body. Some were short, some were long; some clearly deep and penetrating while others looked like a grazing blow. All of them held a darker discoloration to the pale tone of his flesh, and every single one was an upraised distortion to a body that had at some early moment been whole and perfect. Was the world truly so cruel that it deemed him unworthy to have a body left untouched when his face was mangled by Nature's wicked sense of amusement? How could people have such little regard for a human life that they took it upon themselves to be judge and jury for the simple crime of having an imperfect face?

I suppose at that moment, I made a decision that had been tossed about within my mind for some time but had never fully been considered until now. I knew I could not convince Erik to live out the rest of his days in public view, not when he had shunned the world for so long—and with good reason. Further, I knew he would only consent to be without the mask in my presence, and even that would take considerable persuasion to accomplish. But I would try and try and _try_ until he felt no need to ever don the mask again. Even if he could not accept his face for himself, I would not stop until he could accept it for my sake. He would come to see himself as whole and perfect...if not through his eyes, then through mine.

He made rapid work of my dress and undergarments, and while modesty objected to being so bare and exposed before him, desire was a stronger voice in my head. As he gazed upon me with such burning hunger in his eyes, I could only feel comfortable and confident in my own skin, a woman fit to accept and meet every one of his desires. I felt empowered even as I was once again humbled in the presence of his love for me, and in feeling such confidence...I couldn't help myself. Modesty and innocence were lost to the resonating call of passion that thrilled my senses and spurred my body into action.

Without hesitation, my hands set down on his shoulders and brought him down with little more than a light push. He looked surprised yet intrigued with this new set of circumstances, and I couldn't help but smile as I leaned down for a light kiss. My hips set against his, and I silently cursed the barrier of his trousers when I craved skin.

"Sing with me, _ange_." I whispered with fingers trailing ghostlike across his naked chest. "Sing with me in front of them all...show them what happens when they try and steal your angel from you."

"Christine...I cannot—"

"You can." my lips kissed a slow path down his chest and stomach until they found the waist of his pants. Feeling terribly brazen, I brought my tongue to taste the bare skin just above the thin barrier, dipping teasingly beneath the band to leave wet heat upon his cold skin. My actions were only meager ministrations compared to what my passion-drugged fantasies could envision doing to him, yet already they had him clawing at the silk sheets. The thought alone of what little I need do to make him writhe in desire was enthralling. "Sing with me."

"Vixen," he managed to speak around clenched teeth while his body shivered in want.

"I am simply what you have made me, _ange_." I reminded him innocently even when my hands were behaving in no such way. I dragged the pants from his hips without any rush involved. Let there be no doubt that I could play this game of torture even better than he, and I would be no less accomplished at getting what I wanted with nothing more than deviant persuasion as my weapon. Seeing the fog cast across his eyes, I flattered myself to think he was enchanted with such a revelation. No doubt he fully intended to use this to his advantage in the future.

"Sing, Erik..." I whispered with lips pressing firm and ardent kisses to every inch of skin left exposed by his discarded pants. My teasing was pushing him to the brink, and the moment he was able to regain some kind of control over himself, I knew I would be punished mercilessly for my wicked style of persuasion. "Sing with me."

"...you cannot ask...I am not—" his coherency was less than intact, and I could not deny a small sense of indulgent satisfaction to know I had brought my articulate genius of a teacher to form anything less than a complete sentence. Curiosity prompted me to wonder just what else I might be able to do that would further shatter his concepts of logical and rational thought, and with that as encouragement, I lifted one hand from his chest to trail feathery pressure along the rigid proof of his desire.

A sharp hiss escaped those misshapen lips, and both hands immediately tightened within the sheets until the flesh strained colorless across his knuckles. Delight soared within me, yet even still it was not quite enough to meet my satisfaction. He was still in control, still in possession of enough defiance that would enable him to refuse me. And that would simply not do.

Without concern for impropriety, I curled my fingers around his width while marveling at the feel of him even through the flimsy protection offered by the one garment still hiding his body from my eyes. The skin was firm against my palm and heated as though with the flame of hellfire itself. I felt momentarily shocked with my illicit behavior, and I wondered if he shared such wonder and surprise to know I would shamelessly set hands upon him this way.

Silently, I decided there was only one way to find out.

My head slowly lowered to kiss his concave stomach and trace light caresses along the sharp hip bones visible beneath the pale skin. My tongue occasionally darted out to taste him, savoring the choked groan that rewarded my every sinful touch. And truly, by my Christian upbringing and the societal norms ground into my mind since childhood, everything I was doing was proof of the blackest sin. Yet I had also been taught that sin wrought pain and suffering in its wake, and there was no pain present for me—or for him. This was sweet bliss and delight, pleasure in both raw and simplistic forms. How could this ever be a sin?

"Sing, Erik," my voice spoke barely above a breathed whisper, "Your touch enthralls me...but your voice makes me burn. God, I am consumed by fire for need of you, _ange_...and I want to burn before them all. Let them see what flames you conceive within me with your voice in my ear and your hands upon my flesh. I beg of you, _mon amour_, sing with me!"

I set my lips in a kiss to the tip of his ache, and his wits were snapped.

I could feel his emotional surrender even as he gripped my hair and brought me to meet his gaze in a demonstration of physical control and domination over the little minx in his bed. Nearly out of breath, he swallowed a few times before finding his voice. I wondered for a brief, terrifying moment if he intended to reprimand my utterly brazen behavior, but then I caught sight of the awe in his eyes, and a warm sense of peace settled upon me as his fingers loosened their grip in my hair and trailed down to cup my cheek.

"Call for me, Christine." he breathed, "Call for me with your voice...call, and I will come."

"Yes," I offered a loving sigh and kissed his chest with desperate relief, "I will, _ange_...I will."

Control was once again in his hands, and we both knew it. I had enjoyed my little game for the purpose of earning his cooperation in the overall matter, but now I wanted to be enveloped in his arms and claimed by his body until my mind was numb with the intoxication of passion and pleasure. Seeming to sense my compliance, Erik brought his arms around me and resumed our earlier position. I shivered slightly to feel his eyes trace my every curve and inch of soft skin. One hand slipped up my spine to card through the tangled curls strewn across the silk pillows. It was a wonderful touch...I had never realized how marvelous it could feel to have my hair touched, but I knew I would never grow tired of it.

"But you must sing your entrance with perfection, my love." he added softly, always the teacher first and foremost even when we were all-but naked together. "Call out for your Don Juan with nothing less than I would have taught you, had you spent these last weeks under my training."

There was a distinct touch of bitterness to his voice, and I was not keen on having such things ruin this precious moment. My hands slid down his sides to cradle the firm bones of his hips between them, anchoring him to the reality of this moment. "I am here now, Erik...just as you requested. Teach me to sing a new song now. Teach me to sing with your body atop mine, against me and inside me as you join us in ways others can scarcely imagine. Bring my song to life as I feel your skin upon mine while your hands tease me and torment me half to madness. Show me how to sing a duet that no other can possibly dream of...a duet which only you and I can know and understand."

Resentment crumbled around him as love and wonder returned to his gaze. "Christine..." he offered my name as a reverent prayer before stealing my breath in a kiss. "My Christine..."

"Forever yours, Erik." I nodded with frantic hands tearing the last barrier from his body. My eyes drew in the full line of his body with wonder, tracing over each scar and tight muscle set upon a thinly-constructed form wrapped in pale skin. With trepidation in eyes that never broke the connection with mine, he slowly lowered his body against mine. I moaned softly, unable to contain such a response as the natural chill of his flesh meshed with the heat of mine. Perhaps in another situation, I would have been left cold with his touch so fully against me, but my blood only ran hot and fast with the sensation of his body finally set to mine—firm and hardened planes of flesh and muscle lying upon soft curves that made him sigh with such sweet pleasure.

"Stop me, my love..." he murmured with a soft caress to my face, "Say the word, and we will stop. I am loathe to cause you pain, yet I fear such a thing is unavoidable should we continue. Tell me to stop and I will not think any less of you for it."

I knew he spoke true, and his willingness to sacrifice the fulfillment of his desire only made my heart swell all the more with love and longing. Setting a kiss to his brow, I met his gaze with resolve. "I have no fear of a brief moment of pain when you will steal it away and replace it with pleasure." drawing a slow and careful breath, I parted my legs and brought him against the natural cradle of my hips. "Make love to me, _amour_...I need you."

As he gave way to both his needs and mine, pushing his body into mine to at last make our union complete, I tasted that brief moment of pain which he had feared. A whimper escaped without my consent, and I felt him stop and tilt my face up for proper inspection. I was just as helpless to stop the tears from gathering and seeping out, and I heard him utter a soft despairing moan as he tried to wipe them away. "Christine...oh God, _ange_, forgive me."

"No..." I shook my head and smiled even in the presence of tears, "No forgiveness, Erik...it is not needed. Only give me what you promised...steal away the pain and leave nothing but pleasure."

My words were the only encouragement needed, and within moments I was lost upon a sea of black silk with his body pressed so securely against mine. This was a connection I had never before imagined possible, not with Raoul or any other man. This connection seemed to stem solely from the shadows of our hearts, this forbidden element to love that many in the so-called civilized world deemed unfit for any kind of intimate relations. But I could not understand just what crime it really was to feel this way and delve into the deepest, most sacred depths that love could possibly offer a person. My heart knew a sense of completion and purity because of this love, and now that I had tasted it...I could not possibly imagine life without it. If I ever had to face a day without it, it could very easily kill me.

Both hands ran covetously across every inch of his body that I could possibly find without utilizing my sight. I preferred to keep my eyes on the fave hovering mere inches above mine, so close that I easily graced his lower lip with my kiss before drifting to his throat. Soft moans resonated against my ears, sweet music that thrilled me to the core and brought my heart soaring to new heights. My own song lifted to join his with each thrust of his hips and every arch of my body to meet his rhythm. It was no longer the gentle pace that it had originally been, but a faster and more purposeful dance that sparked fire through my veins and lifted my voice to a higher pitch laced with desperation. Nails bit down into skin as I silently expressed my need for release, and I knew he shared the need wholeheartedly.

"Christine," he moaned into my curls, "God, Christine...your heartbeat is a symphony onto itself. I can hear the music running so swift and true through your veins. Such sweet harmony you have within your heart...can you hear it, _amour_?"

"No," I murmured, "But I can hear it in yours. I can hear the song in your veins and your pulse, Erik. I can hear it as sure as I hear the music when it pours forth from your fingertips. It is a song I have never heard before...such beauty that can exist only in your veins and the beat of your heart. Mine is a meager offering in comparison."

"No...no, Christine, yours is an aria fit alone for the deities of heaven." he kissed my temple with sweet reverence and adoration. "I would have you sing for me now, _ange_...sing your song for your Angel of Music."

I did not question or hesitate in an manner. His voice was so like that which he'd used in my youth as a heaven-sent guardian...I could never refuse that voice. I was helpless to obey my angel, and he knew it.

My song resonated high to the stone ceilings above and echoed about his chamber like a siren's song. Even to my own ears, it was a song truly fit for the angels...something so true and raw in its beauty that I could hardly comprehend it came from my lips. But from the lulling moan that rang in my ears from angel's lips, I knew it had pleased him greatly. More importantly, I knew he would expect nothing less of me come tomorrow night.

And I would not disappoint him.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Chapter 4 has arrived! I should make the comment that I took liberties with Christine's attire for the **_**Don Juan**_** production. It's a bit of a combination between the musical's version and the film's depiction, with an added flare or two of my own design. Somehow, I think it's more fitting...but that's just me.**

**I would also like to thank everyone who has reviewed this story! Your comments encourage me to keep posting, and more importantly, keep writing! Thank you all so much!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events associated with **_**The Phantom of the Opera**_**. Everything belongs to their respective owners. I own only my motivation for this little story, nothing more and nothing less.**

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><p>From the moment I awoke, I sensed Erik's absence in the bed and found myself suffering without his warmth at my side. I lifted my eyes to the door and found it slightly ajar, as though Erik hadn't wanted me to feel trapped and locked away when I awakened. Smiling slightly at the ever subtle displays of care and tenderness, I slipped out from the covers and made my way on dancer's feet to the discarded clothes nearby. I didn't bother with knotting the robe closed and such when I was not to be in public view. Besides, it might be a pleasant reminder to Erik of last night's activities.<p>

He was once again in the music room, idly leafing through the pages of a book—one of the many he possessed regarding the history, techniques, and overall beauty of music. I knew his attention was not on the words printed upon paper, for the moment he sensed my presence in the room, his eyes were upon me. I was pleased to find a smile on his lips, but such relief was cut short to find his mask once again in place.

My determined self-promise from last night returned to my thoughts, and swallowing back a minute fear of the forthcoming consequences I moved forward and set my hand to his shoulder. It was a neutral enough greeting, and for the moment he did not seem to suspect I had any further intentions that might be of concern.

"Good morning," he said calmly, brushing a kiss to my forehead as best he could with that infernal mask providing an obstacle. "You are up at such an early hour...did I wake you?"

"Your absence awakened me." I answered softly, savoring the soft touch of his hands on my face. He was not wearing gloves again, for which I was most grateful. Lifting my eyes once more to his, I added with a small smile, "I grow cold without you by my side."

"Is that so...?" he murmured, tracing the soft bones of my face before catching loose curls in his hand. He seemed to appreciate it when I left my hair to fall free without ribbons or other constraints. It made me smile to think such trivial aspects of my being could make him smile like that.

Even as I enjoyed the sight of his smile, I could not offer a wholehearted smile in return. That mask was inhibiting my ability to see his face, disguising those features I so adored with a stark shield of white that was cold to my fingertips when I reached up and touched it. To say I was unhappy with this situation was an understatement, and I was not inclined to suffer any longer.

The fingers of one hand fitted around the edges of his mask. Immediately, as could be predicted, Erik grasped my hand with his and met my eye firmly. "Don't, Christine," he whispered, trying to keep his temper intact, "Not now."

"Let me take it off, Erik." I protested, "Please...did I not prove last night that it doesn't matter? That I want to see your _face_, not a masked illusion?"

"You were in possession of a far different mindset last night," he replied, unyielding in his hold, "and I will not taste your revulsion when you uncover the monstrosity you kissed and touched."

His words stung, but the emotional blow only fueled the fire of my resolve and brought his mask into my hand with a well-placed tug. He curled defensively away from me, but I followed him without waver or fear for his temper, which I could already see building and preparing to lash out with one more offensive action on my part. I may regret this course of action in a matter of moments, if his restraint did not hold, but I was willing to take the risk...fool that I was.

"Erik, please," I whispered, reaching out for him with both hands. The mask was left on a nearby shelf, where I hoped it would stay for as long as possible. I knew enough to say that if it was left in my possession, it would probably be broken in a matter of seconds. "Please, _ange_...don't hide from me."

"God, Christine...why?" he moaned softly, a pitiful noise that pulled fiercely on my heartstrings. I could see proof of his rage lingering within his eyes, but there was something much deeper set in those mismatched depths—grief. He truly believed if he lowered his hand, which he'd brought over his face to cover the deformity as best as he could, I would run from him and break apart the sweet bliss which last night had brought to us both.

"Why?" he repeated, lifting his one exposed eye to find me standing a short distance away. "Why are you doing this? Why are you so intent on breaking this happiness? Do you not understand just how fragile its existence already is? To consistently expose this atrocity is to further break and crack what might be our paradise until it falls apart at our feet."

"You call this _happiness_?" I demanded, incredulous as I knelt before him. "How can you possibly call this happiness when we still wear masks around one another? You lock yourself away even when I have proven that your face holds no horror for me, so certain that I am under some kind of spell or bewitchment from which I will awaken, and if it happens—"

"_When_ it happens," he shook his head with such heavy despair, "you will come to your senses and realize that you have vowed love and happiness to one who does not deserve such things. If I continue to hide my face from you, Christine, then you will never have to face cold reality and happiness can continue to be ours."

I shook my head in turn, setting both hands upon his knee and drawing as close as I possibly could with his posture curled protectively against me. "You said it yourself, Erik...this happiness is hardly anything more than another lie; an illusion built upon selective trust and fragile feelings that can be broken with nothing more than a passing breath."

My hand reached for his face, hoping to coax his hand away. "Please...don't push me away. This love was not meant to be such a fleeting memory, but a foundation upon which we build our future."

"Future?" he repeated with a flicker of temper dancing across his tongue. In one swift motion, he dragged me closer and lowered his hand to reveal malformed features in the full light of the room. Golden candlelight caught every distortion in its net to highlight his ravaged features and produce a vivid image before my eyes. Just shy of seeing him in daylight, this was probably the clearest picture I had ever been granted of his face. It unnerved me a little, particularly when those features were so tightly contorted in his anguish and rage. Yet amidst the overall monstrosity of his face, I found myself drowning in the dual-colored orbs fixated upon my face. Had I ever seen eyes such as his before? Most assuredly not...they could exist in no other save an angel fallen from grace.

"_Future_, Christine?" he hissed, gripping my arms fiercely, "How can you speak of such things? You are a creature of the light, a soul born pure and innocent before it was ravaged by my poison. And you would condemn yourself to live forever with the devil himself? Oh, but I would happily dream of hearing such words from your lips...promises akin to those you made last night." his anger faltered though his grip never loosened, as though he was torn between breaking me and pulling me into his arms. "Can you promise me such bliss again, Christine? The memories of my past would mock me for such wholehearted trust, but if you can repeat your promise into my eyes without the fog of desire to cloud your judgment...I would believe you. Fool that I am, I would believe you and never again question your heart's devotion."

I knew he wasn't lying...I could see it in his eyes. Such desperation flooded those depths and radiated from his very being. His trust clung to a fragile thread, capable of unraveling in the blink of an eye, or slowly beginning to reconstruct itself into a stronger bond between my heart and his. Such a precious and delicate thing I held in my hands...the power to shatter him heart and soul, or help him become the man I knew he was, buried deep inside beneath a vast multitude of illusions and masks to shield him from the cruelty of this world.

My hands lifted to cradle his face with fingers idly caressing across his brow and tracing the firm bones of his eye sockets, all the while never breaking my attention from his eyes. I could easily lose myself in those vibrant depths...two jewels fit for the gods set upon a mortal face. And I was granted access to these eyes for the rest of my life.

Truly...no king or queen had ever received so wondrous a gift.

"What have I ever done in my life to deserve you, _ange_?" I whispered, leaning closer to kiss his brow and temple, "Perhaps I was not raised with excessive privilege and riches, but in my own right I have been spoiled. I have lived my life surrounded by dreams of materialistic finery and luxury, convinced that such privilege would be my greatest dream. Everyone around me demands that I accept Raoul as my husband...that I sway under the supposed wonder that such a marriage would provide. And I believed it like the foolish child I once was...accepted his ring and consented to shut myself away from music for the rest of my life. My actions have broken your heart so many times...so many that I wonder how you can possibly forgive me now. But I beg for your forgiveness...plead for it with my heart and soul."

I was not offering him the promise for which he had initially asked, but I hoped he would take my words as a greater offering—this plea for him to accept my heart in spite of the transgressions I had committed against his. I could not have him be the only one between us to offer everything of himself and receive little in return. He wanted my heart, soul...everything I was and would ever be. And he deserved nothing less. More so, he deserved to believe it was his to claim without condition or obligation. It was not a bribe, but a gift.

I only hoped he could understand.

His hands mimicked mine, cupping my face with a tenderness that brought tears to my eyes. I could see his acceptance set within his eyes and upon his features. Distortion softened as he leaned ever closer and for the briefest moment it looked as though he bore no deformity but a face that society would deem acceptable. It was his love seeping through to make his face a true extension of his heart.

It was utterly beautiful to behold.

His lips brushed across my forehead with equal tenderness. "Ask."

I met his eyes even through the blurry sheen of my tears. As I blinked, they fell lightly from my cheeks and pooled in the fabric of my nightdress. Bringing my right hand from his face to clutch his wrist, I finally found my voice even if only in a breathless whisper.

"Forgive me..." I pressed my wet cheek into his palm, "Forgive me, _ange_...and love me instead. Love me and stay beside me. Offer me your trust and know it will never be forsaken or taken for granted. Let me end my days with you and never again doubt that I would stay at your side no matter what. Let us have a future away from the regrets of the past...a future to live as one."

"Do you truly know what you are asking of me, Christine?" he whispered, "Do you understand that you speak of marriage? Of living as my wife with each and every expectation attached to such a title? Do you comprehend the magnitude of your promises?"

"Yes," I nodded firmly, a smile curving my mouth even through my tears, "I do...I do and I long for nothing less, Erik. After all...I would not bring my child into the world without a husband at my side."

The look on his face was, for lack of a better word, priceless. I might have laughed if the situation allowed for it, but offering a broad smile was just as fitting. "C...child?" he repeated, looking utterly stunned at such a notion. How remarkable it was to think I had managed to completely shock the mighty Opera Ghost with such a small word. "Christine...that isn't...why would you...?"

"I would assume you intend to continue our activities from last night, do you not?" I smiled all the more, running my fingers through his hair with an idle gesture that made him shiver. "And children tend to be an ultimate result from such action, Erik...surely you must have realized that."

"Yes, but..."

My hand pressed lightly over his mouth before he could offer any further protests. "Do you not _want_ a child, Erik?" I suppose that should have been my first question before I indulged myself in an seemingly inherent desire to be a mother, but I also knew his fears of bringing offspring into the world with him claiming paternity. To sway his fear, I simply needed to share my dreams and pray he found them as delightful as myself.

"Can you not see it, my love?" I smiled softly and laid my head upon his shoulder, curling my body against his and savoring the solid feel of my angel. "An irrefutable testament to our love...one of flesh and blood that we can call our own. A living and breathing being created from our union...one who will adore and love its father as much as I."

"And what if I am able to truly lay claim to this child, Christine?" he asked quietly, "What if I curse this child to bear my face in every aspect of horrid reality? What then can you say of the love it would hold for me, knowing I condemned it?"

"You have such little faith, Erik..." I shook my head, "If our child bears your face, it would be more beautiful than any child could ever hope to be. It would not know the confines of a mask or some poorly contrived ideal of perfection...not when it would be beyond perfect in the eyes of its parents. Your face is beautiful in its uniqueness, in the wondrous contrast to the world around us. If our child shared that...I would love it more than you could possibly imagine."

My eyes lifted to his face, and my hand carefully traced the socket containing his emerald-hued eye. "And if our child is born with perfection in its features...I can only offer a prayer that it shares one special feature from its father's face."

"What is that?"

I smiled quietly, "I would have our child share its father's eyes. Your eyes captivate me, Erik...such exquisite beauty set upon your face to peer down into the very depths of my heart and soul. I could drown myself in your eyes and never know regret for it. So...if our child shares nothing else of your features, I pray it shares your eyes. I would look upon its face and know without a doubt that it shares your blood as sure as it shares mine."

My hand slipped down to wrap within his, bringing it to my lips as I kissed every knuckle and fingertip. "Could you not love a child with your face, Erik? Is that why you fear the very thought of bringing life into this world?"

He kissed the top of my head, and I sighed to feel his breath rustle through my curls. "You speak of the child with such love and devotion even when it is nothing but a fantasy...it is as though you already hold it within your arms as flesh and blood, not a passing fancy of the heart. How can I not share your adoration, Christine?" again he kissed me, this time upon my brow, just above my eyelid. "I would fear for the child if it bore my face, yes...but I have tasted the cruelty of this world long enough to know how to protect my child. Perhaps I could not spare it from all sufferings, but while I knew no arms to soothe away my grief...our child would never know such emptiness. I could hold it and comfort it...reassure it of the beauty that exists where most eyes cannot see. Yes, Christine...I could. I could love a child...if it was ours."

"I should be insulted that you would ever suggest otherwise." I teased, "Or do you have some exotic substitute for when you grow bored of orphaned Swedish girls?"

He claimed my lips in a fierce kiss that had me melting in his embrace. Both arms wound about his neck as I returned the kiss in a frantic attempt to fuse our bodies together. I could feel my senses ache for his touch, my skin tingling as his chest rubbed ever so slightly against mine. I wanted to be rid of clothing barriers soon before the torment drove me mad!

Yet even as I burned for his caress, he broke the kiss with a light bite to my lower lip. "Let that be a lesson for you to question my devotion and make such ridiculous accusations." he replied with a smirk before lifting me upon unsteady legs. "And now we must return, Christine...they will be missing you."

"Have I given any indication that I care?" I replied, still breathless from that kiss. "I am far more content to remain here until the hour demands my return to the stage. That way," I added coyly, "I can be sure you will follow through with your promise and join me tonight."

"You have your own promise to fulfill, _petite_." he reminded with a lifted brow, "I expect your entrance to be nothing less than perfection, or you will indeed sing with Piangi and not offer a word of protest."

"A fate worse than death, Erik..." I shuddered visibly to consider such an ordeal, "Would you be so merciless?"

"This opera was written to demonstrate the true extent of your talents." Erik smiled in reply, "I would be a fool to allow such leniency when you know better. It is your time to shine upon that stage, in your rightful place as you have always deserved. Besides...you know I will not answer if the call is anything shy of perfection."

I considered pouting, but thought better of it and simply nodded. "But must you take me back now, _ange_? I have no desire to return and risk an encounter with the Vicomte. My energies are far better suited to other affairs than arguing with his stubborn delusions."

His fingers hooked beneath my chin and brought me to meet his gleaming eyes. "I greatly anticipate just what _activities_ would require such energy and devotion, _amour_." his lips brushed mine for a moment, "But yes, I must take you back before questions are raised. You have a great deal of final preparations to contend with before the curtain rises."

I knew better than to argue further, even when I saw absolutely no need to return to the world above when my heart was firmly anchored to the catacombs. Still, I nodded my consent and accepted his extended hand, drawing it tightly within my hold as though doing so would forever brand the feel of his bare palm against mine.

The journey back into my dressing room was unfortunately short, and I stepped across the threshold with regret to think I would not spend the next hours in Erik's company. Unable to resist, I brought my arms around his neck and graced him with a final kiss to brand in his memory as a promise of what was to come. He seemed just as disinclined to break the embrace as I, but when I met his eye I found him smiling with great satisfaction.

"Be listening, _mon ange_," I breathed, "I will be waiting for you."

"As will I, sweet Christine." he nodded with a brief parting kiss. "As will I."

He was gone in a passing breath, leaving me cold and alone in his absence. It took a long moment for me to regain composure even while I chastised myself for such infantile behavior. I was acting like a child torn away from a beloved caretaker, fit to openly sob and grieve in the shortest moments following his departure. Now was not the time to revert back to my childhood, when I would have—and frequently did—take such action. After all, in my youth Erik was the only companion I knew...the only one who could always be depended upon and trusted to answer when I called. When I was torn from his company, even if I had not known his physical presence in those days, it left an agonizing gap in my heart until I heard his voice once more.

I shook my head firmly, running my hands through wild locks of hair and drawing myself up to full height. As if on cue, a knock came at my door to announce the seamstress had completed the final alterations. I opened my door to find her standing there with arms full of fabric. With my invitation, she immediately entered and set the dress over the bench seat to my vanity. I did not need further instruction and immediately began to disrobe. My skin was practically itching to slip into the dress and see it in completed glory...all with the thought of presenting myself as Erik's complete fantasy brought to life for all to see.

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><p>"Oh, Christine..." Meg sighed breathlessly as she took in my every angle, circling about with admiration etched upon her expression, "My God, you are simply <em>breathtaking<em>! Oh, pray tell, do you _feel_ as beautiful as you look?"

I smiled quietly at her adoration, carefully looking over the image set before me in the mirror. A creamy chemise of lace and silk lay across my upper body, with lace-trimmed straps falling loose upon my shoulders; a black corset was secured just beneath the chest, drawing the upper swells of my breasts upward to peek out along the chemise's upper hem. The skirt fell light against my legs, coming to pool about my feet in an elegant swirl of crimson. A wrap of sheer black Spanish lace was drawn around my hips to compliment the red beneath.

All was set in accordance with Erik's instructions, though I had devised a few minor additions of my own. I had chosen to leave my feet bare even against the seamstress's advice, and I happily savored the cool touch of carpet between my toes. I had taken great care to arrange my curls to desired perfection, and they successfully hung loose and wild down my back. The only ornament set among them was the blossom of a red rose, carefully pinned in place to complete the overall image.

I felt like a siren...the incarnation of a flawless fantasy fit for the angels. The thought of Erik's face when he saw me was enough to spread warmth through every inch of my body and bring a smile to my lips.

"Words cannot express how perfect I feel, Meg." I answered, stepping away from the mirror to take stock of my friend's own attire, "And you are quite the image of beauty yourself! I do believe red is your color."

Meg laughed, twirling elegantly in place to bring her ruffled skirt up in place. "Let the others complain all they want." she declared, pausing to look at herself in the mirror and nodding proudly, "I like this dress. We should be allowed to wear these more often!"

"_There_ you are!" Madame's voice sharply interrupted the moment as she stepped into my room with a reprimanding scowl, "I have been looking for you everywhere, Meg. You are supposed to be in the wings...or do you suppose the show will simply be put on hold in your tardiness?"

"Oh, Mama," she offered her best pout, "I couldn't join the others without seeing Christine! Doesn't she look utterly magnificent?"

"No excuses," Madame replied, though her expression softened slightly as she drew closer and cast an approving eye over my attire. I felt absurdly pleased to know she was impressed, for surely other women of her particular refinement would not be so approving. "You look beautiful, my dear." she nodded. "Very beautiful indeed...and since I am here to fetch my child, perhaps it would be best for you to join us. Monsieur Reyer's blood pressure has already been tested enough as of late...it may be beneficial if he is reassured that his star is already in attendance."

I laughed softly, nodding in agreement. "Very well," I turned back to the mirror to ensure the rose would not come loose anytime soon. I was not about to embarrass myself before the entire audience by losing such an important piece of my costume.

A sudden knock came at the door, but before any of us could move to answer, the door opened of its own accord to reveal the Vicomte. He was dressed predictably in a pristine suit, hair combed back and smoothed in place and boots polished to a shine. The perfect vision of a theater patron...and a prospective husband for any other woman.

I drew a careful breath, determined to remain as pleasantly neutral as possible. He was not going to ruin my evening by dampening my spirits. "Raoul," I greeted calmly, "How may I assist you?"

The Girys fell silent in the corner; Meg's eyes were nervously darting between us while Madame stood calm and regal with her attention focused less on the Vicomte and more on myself. I could not help but liken her gaze to that of a mother bird, allowing her chick to fly free but prepared to dart in at a moment's notice, should the situation call for such intervention.

"Christine," he said, casting an eye over to the other women, "I had hoped we could speak privately."

"Whatever you need say can be said in present company." I replied, "I assure you, if it is such sensitive information as you would make it out to be, Madame Giry and Meg can both be trusted to keep your secrets."

He didn't look pleased, but nodded distractedly and strode forward to close a distance that I would have preferred remained between us. "I have come to beg you one last time, Christine...return to your senses and do not fall under his spell any longer. The _gendarme_ are present as we speak, and they are at the command to shoot when he appears. Do not let him put you in harm's way!"

"It would seem to me that the only one putting me in harm's way is _you_." I replied coldly, eyes hard and narrow as I contemplated the absurd irony of his words. He condemned Erik the murderer, and here he was fully prepared to commit murder in a theater full of people, with me as the very bait. I might have been able to pity his delusions if not for the sheer fury I felt for his arrogant behavior toward the whole matter.

"I am doing this _for you_!" he protested, "Why can you not see that? While that madman lives, he will continue to hunt you down and never stop until you are either dead or claimed as his prize. I am trying to protect you."

"I do not ask for your protection!" I answered furiously, "I have never asked for it. Believe what you will, but Erik would never harm me. He loves me...he has _always_ loved me in ways no one can possibly comprehend. And I love him...nothing can or will change that, despite what you would prefer to believe."

"The same way you loved me when you accepted my ring." Raoul replied stiffly, "Yet I am not worthy of your heart while I am not a murderer."

Anger ran hot through my blood, and it was an effort to not lash out at him. "You have no right to condemn him when you are fully prepared to do the same."

"For _your_ sake!"

"Do not play my affections this way, Raoul!" I snapped, "Erik's crimes have also been for my sake, and his actions have placed far less people in harm's way than what you are prepared to do tonight!"

"And so he has earned your heart in turn." the Vicomte said with anger plain in his words and upon his face, "Perhaps you will come to your senses when your beloved monster reverts to his true nature and makes his bride another stain upon his bloodied hands."

Silence fell heavy between us as I fought against the rage coursing through every vein, leaving me shaking with the effort to not act upon my temper and demonstrate just how alike Erik and I could be. Releasing fury in a soft breath, I opened my eyes though I could not recall closing them. Raoul would believe what he would, but I had already begun to change Erik and I would continue to do so for the rest of my life. His instincts may have previously called for murder, but the man I laid with last night held an instinct only to protect me and love me in ways I did not deserve. If and when I became Erik's bride, I would never be in harm's way.

And I refused to believe otherwise.

"Do not presume to know so much of Erik's heart." I whispered, meeting Raoul's eyes without waver, "You know _nothing_ of his life, Raoul. You have spent your years in luxury and privilege, with your social status revered and envied and openly desired by so many. Your life knows nothing of hardship or suffering...nothing of the true cruelty that this world can unleash upon a soul. _No one_ has envied Erik's existence from the day he was born, only condemned him and beaten him mercilessly. You speak of the crimes he commits? What crime did he commit to deserve a childhood plagued with such agony? A _child_, Raoul! He was a child without sin or transgression and still the world looked upon his suffering without regret or sympathy. You think you can curse him for his actions now as a man? His world and yours are two apart, and always will be. You live in the protection of social status and wealth, Raoul. Erik...Erik lives in a world where he must kill or be killed."

"Your heart is too accepting, Christine...too trusting." Raoul moved to take my hand in his. "Please...just come with me. I can make you happy if you will simply forget this nightmare and give me your heart."

"My heart has never been yours to claim, Raoul." I shook my head and pulled away from his touch, "My heart was meant for Erik's even before I was born. To forget him is to forget my very sense of self...to abandon who I am and who I will always be."

"Christine—"

"I have already apologized for not returning your love, Raoul." I continued firmly. "But I have made my choice. Now leave me be...and don't come back."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Finally, I present the final chapter...my profuse apologies for being so late with the update. I blame school and emotional distress. Thank God I have wonderful reviews to come home to at night, particularly after a day where I feel like curling up in a dark hole. **

**As this is the much-anticipated scene featuring "The Point of No Return", I did my best to incorporate the lyrics of that gorgeous song into this chapter, hopefully with some reasonable success. Also, there is an additional familiar song from the musical located within this chapter, and I will praise the first reviewer who can name it. Hint: you'll find it a little more than halfway through the chapter.**

**Though this story was short, I hope it met all expectations and does not leave anyone disappointed. Again, please leave me a nice little review, and I will see you all soon!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events associated with **_**The Phantom of the Opera**_**. Everything belongs to their respective owners. I own only my motivation for this little story, nothing more and nothing less.**

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><p>"<em>When words leave off, music begins."<em>

_~Heinrich Heine_

Singing had always been an inherent trait, a birthright sewn into the very fiber of my body and soul. Singing before a live audience was just another piece to the overall composition of my heart...a demonstration of my voice's perfection which had come into existence after long years of practice and teachings at the hand of a true musical genius.

Even now, I could easily recall the first performance of more than six months earlier: how the audience had stared with wonder and intrigue when I presented myself as the new opera diva; how chatter quickly spread like wildfire through the cast and crew regarding the mysterious identity of my brilliant teacher. Was it some mysterious foreigner who came to Paris to make his name, and who better to assist such an endeavor than a sympathetic creature such as an orphaned chorus girl? Or perhaps it was one of the cast's very own who hid their talents from all others save his or her student? Maybe it was indeed the infamous Phantom himself, sweeping a helpless child away into the shadows and stealing her protests with an enchantment that worked its way into her throat to conceive such a wondrous voice?

I only smiled in the silence of my thoughts, dismissing memories of gossip for the beautiful reality that was my life, and very soon would be my future. The Opera Ghost's mistress I would perhaps forever be, but there was a new title for me to soon accept: the willing and adoring bride of neither phantom nor ghost, but a man who lived and breathed as any other man.

I had seen Meg off some time ago, watching as she answered the beckoning call of music and disappeared amongst a gathering of red and black clad dancers. Soon enough, she had resurfaced from the crowds with that mane of blonde curls distinguishing her from the rest. With a smile on my lips, I eagerly watched her demonstrate a sense of grace and poise that rivaled and even outranked that of her fellow ballerinas. She was a true gem among the masses, and I shared Madame's pride as we stood together in the wings. Once or twice, I caught Meg's eye and offered a confident smile that made her beam and throw even more enthusiasm into her stride.

As the dance ended, she hurried back to join her mother and I, all with a little skip to her step that had Madame lifting a disapproving brow but made me laugh quietly. Under her mother's silent remonstration, Meg only offered a shy little smile with those blue eyes twinkling happily all the while. We stood together for a short moment more, but soon enough I heard my cue rise from the orchestra pit. It was time for Aminta to enter.

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><p>The first and second act flew by with a disorienting speed, and as I stood in the wake of the third act I found myself marveling that the moment had finally arrived—the one for which I had been waiting all night. Once again, I found myself beside Madame and Meg; the latter was idly twisting a curl while she watched Piangi on stage offering his notes using all the grace and dignity with which he might have offered a loud belch. For a moment, Meg caught my eye and nodded toward the Italian with a wrinkled nose and protruding tongue, a clear demonstration of disgust that had me stifling a giggle in my palm.<p>

I suddenly felt a hand upon my shoulder and found Madame standing very close with a purposeful look in her eye. Without a word of explanation, she quietly handed me a single red rose with its crimson petals spread out in full bloom. My breath caught as I saw the black silk bound to the stem, telling me without card or note who had sent such a gift. As my heart thrummed excitedly, I lifted the flower and drew in its scent with relish. I had never held the same appreciation for roses and their simple beauty as I did now. In the offering of one single flower, I was given a message that no gushing sentiments or elaborate explanations could ever offer.

Madame gave me a soft smile before stepping back and silently commanding her daughter to do the same. Piangi made his exaggerated exit, and within seconds it would be my cue to reenter the stage. I clutched the rose to my heart, savoring the feel of silken petals upon my bare flesh and imagining them to be Erik's lips and hands instead. I traced a single finger along the seam of my lips, drawing upon the memory of my angel's kiss to stir the fire within my veins. It worked all too well, and when Reyer called for the orchestra to deliver my cue, I was ready.

As I left the wings and took to the stage, my voice lifted to the heavens with nothing less than utmost perfection, an unwavering melody that seeped into every rafter and floorboard of the opera house. If Erik was lingering anywhere nearby, which he most assuredly had to be, his ears would hear my call. I strove to let my eyes wander across the nearby shadows, hoping to steal a fleeting glimpse of my beloved's face but finding no one. I dismissed the quiet sting of disappointment and instead used it to fuel my voice all the more. The audience knew nothing of my thoughts or feelings, my fears or my triumphs, my concerns or my happiness. They only heard what I wanted them to hear—the voice which Erik had spent tireless years constructing and molding into a flawless instrument whose sole purpose was to make his song take flight.

And that was precisely who—and what—I was.

I was the siren calling the sailor into my arms with promise of passion and uninhibited desire. I was the orphaned child seeking out the embrace of my angel and protector. I was the angel myself, calling out for a broken soul lost to the ravages of a senselessly cruel world, promising a love more honest and true than any could ever imagine. I was Aminta, beckoning my Don Juan to steal away innocence and replace it with consuming temptation.

I was Christine, waiting to receive my reward with my lover's presence on this stage...where he belonged.

An unrehearsed silence fell after my entrance. Piangi was nowhere to be found; there was no shadow emerging to join me on stage...no masked figure coming to answer the call of my song. Even as I called upon my refined skills as an actress and filled in the silence with a lulling hum, walking aimlessly about the stage as though this pause was a completely normal part of the production, I felt an overwhelming sense of dread. My faith slipped through my fingers, escaping me with every passing second. I had called for him...fulfilled his condition without fail, and he wasn't here. Had his fears overcome him in my absence? Had he been lingering within the hidden corridor behind my mirror and overheard Raoul's words, possibly even believed them and convinced himself that I in turn would also believe take them as truth? Was he locked away again the depths of the opera house never to return again?

My eyes fell to the rose still within my hands, and resolve returned to me without fail. I lifted my head high with grace and dignity, cradling the blossom to my breast and transforming a simple hum into a wordless little aria. Erik had sent me this gift and made sure that I would receive it, even if it wasn't from his hand. It had been a final promise that if I performed to his expectations, he would not fail me. Even more, the rose was an silent reassurance that he was watching me...even if only from shadows, ready and waiting to answer my call.

I cast a careful glimpse over the audience, paying special attention to the managers, the _gendarme_, and Raoul. My impromptu performance was apparently working, for I saw no signs that anyone suspected anything. From the pit, I could see Reyer mumbling curses under his breath, and with a deep-set scowl he signaled once again for Don Juan's cue.

Then, from behind me, I felt a presence appear from the shadows and allowed myself to relax. Even if I had to suffer this scene with Piangi, at least there would be no suspicion on Raoul's part that would have him calling the guards to arms and plundering the opera house in search of the notorious phantom. I only hoped that, if Erik had not deemed my performance worthy, he would keep to the shadows and remain hidden until I could flee to his arms once again.

Then Don Juan's voice lifted in song, and mere characterization crumbled around and within me. I was no longer Aminta, but Christine. No more masks to wear, no more roles to play...only the sweet bliss of reality surrounded me as I turned to face my Don Juan—my Erik...my angel. He had come for me after all.

He lifted a finger to his lips, silently reminding me that we were still in our necessary roles and must continue to play such without flaw. I offered my understanding through a meeting of the eyes and maintained my stance, the awe-struck Aminta meeting her masked seducer. From the corner of my eye, I could see no surprise or confusion on any faces among the audience. No one was aware of or capable of noticing the new Don Juan who had taken up Piangi's role and claimed it as his own—his birthright and rightfully earned place.

That golden voice lifted in a rapturous melody that struck me down to the core, rendering my senses numb with awe and my mind entranced as if under the sway of a sorcerer's spell. I had heard his voice in song before, but never like this...the theater brought his voice to brand new heights, resonating in every echo allowed by the rafters and spreading throughout every inch of the room. Unable to resist, I closed my eyes for a brief moment to savor the lingering echo held within my ears. My heart burned with recognition for him, knowing its one true mate solely in the sound of his voice. I could scarcely wait until the moment arrived for us to sing as one.

Erik was steadily closing the distance between us, yet while I longed to throw myself into his arms, I remained in place, playing the role as designated. I knew his touch would be upon me soon enough, and unlike my prior sufferings with Piangi's hands set on my skin, I knew there would be only pleasure and delight from this performance, not the revolted obligation I had previously felt. This was not another rehearsal...only the final act with everything unfolding just as planned.

This was, truly, just how it was supposed to be.

His eyes found mine through the black mask set on his face, hiding those features I adored and cherished so as not to disrupt the current peace that had settled amongst the audience. Even so, I hated the fact that he must hide his face, and it was only for his sake that I stayed my hand and did not rip the mask away as he drew within my arm's reach. Thankfully, my frustration was quelled by the pulsating gleam of those mismatched eyes, tracing over my body with such hunger and ravenous desire that my skin tingled. He was pleased...I could practically see his delight radiating forth as he beheld his greatest fantasy and lady all in one.

Abruptly, his hands turned me in place and brought me to his chest. I was free to move as I pleased; only the lightest touch of his hands was upon me...it would have been easy enough to shake him if I actually wanted to. Of course, such action was the furthest thought from my mind. I was far more inclined to grow limp against the firm planes of muscle set to my spine and relish the feel of his hands tracing the long column of my throat, cupping my shoulders and bringing the chemise's straps to lie low on my upper arms and allow those sweet lips to brush ghosting kisses along the exposed skin without hindrance. My eyes were only partially open, half-lidded with delight as his voice continued to ring in my ears and his hands continued with their path across my skin. His fingers dipped to the top curves of my breasts, and I barely restrained a moan. This was well-beyond an act...he was fully intent on seducing me here on stage before society's elite. I had challenged him to stake his claim in front of their scrutinizing eyes, and he had eagerly accepted.

His voice slowly died as his piece came to a close, and I was released onto unsteady limbs as he stepped away from me. I met his eyes with understanding and passionate determination, using the fire in my veins and the thrum of my heart to find my voice once again. The game was in my hands...and I would not disappoint.

My voice lifted with equal fervor and clarity, a sharp and thrilling note that made him shiver ever so slightly. I silently smiled to see him already effected, but I was hardly content with using my voice as the only tool of my seduction. He would fall under my sway just as I had fallen under his only a moment ago, and I would ensure that he know it before long.

My eyes never left his face, forsaking all others to grant him my full attention. The fire smoldered within my veins, and I knew it reached my eyes as I sang of a soul no longer innocent to the ways of true passion, but slowly becoming lost to its intoxicating effects. I knew what I wanted as sure as Aminta did...wanting to feel her body entwined with her seducer's, defenseless and silent in the darkness. Fantasy was no longer enough when one could have reality within their grasp, and reality was within ours.

I was here with him, and there were no second thoughts, no questions or hesitations. There were no ghosts of the past to haunt us now...no false hopes or fragile illusions to be broken with a thoughtless word or careless action. I had made my decision...and now it was time to let them all see it.

The song took on a primitive edge with lyric and music weaving together in a seamless motion, and with such a change, my tone lowered to that of a confident woman who had the man of her greatest desires within sight and reach. My voice never waver, still carrying clear and true, but the illusion of innocence was long-since discarded. I would not seduce him with the fantasies of my youth, but the reality of my heart.

With slow and deliberate steps, I moved ever closer to him as he stood in place awaiting his lady. A crook of a smile lifted my lips as I lightly dodged his extended hand and stepped behind him with careful grace. My lips lingered teasingly at his ear, my body so close and yet teasingly out of reach while I kept myself hidden behind his tall form. As I offered the sweet question, begging to know when we would once again lie as one, my hands grasped him at the waist, drawing him back to resume our previous positions. My ears caught a nearly inaudible sigh, a breathless exhale that no other could hear but myself, and a victorious smile curved my mouth. My seduction was bringing him to break character, and even if it was only for a moment...it was more than enough to reassure me that he was falling as much under my spell as I was under his.

I coaxed the flames even more, my hands drifting up the tight muscles of his chest to curl around his shoulders while my lips set a single kiss to his neck, finding bare skin amongst the obstruction of clothes. A flicker of wet heat followed my kiss as I dared to taste his flesh without a care of how brazen I was becoming in the public eye. I wanted him half-mad with desire by the time we descended to the shadows and made the vows of our song true with bodies entwined and joined together as one.

I brought myself away from him with a sudden motion, yet kept one hand captive between my own as I stood to face him. Our eyes met, and finally our voices lifted in that long-awaited duet. I could feel the startled admiration of our audience as they watched, mesmerized by the sheer power contained within the melody. This was how it was always meant to be...an angel's duet brought to life through two mortal voices who, when bound together, conceived a melody fit only for the heavenly deities. Our spirits and voices were completely and wholly entwined, spiraling up the heavens and beyond for all to hear.

We were one...now and forever.

The duet slowly ebbed away even while our voices still lingered throughout the theater. A momentary peace lapsed between us as we simply stood there, his hand held in mine almost akin to the way a pair of children would clasp each others' hands. Two souls standing at an unseen brink of life with a forked road ahead of us: to fall back and repeat the mistakes of our past, or stand together and build our future. My earlier words rang true in my mind, promising Erik to create a new world for only the two of us...one where we could never be judged by the ignorance of a world to which neither or us really belonged. It would be our own paradise, where an angel did reign, real and true, and sang lulling melodies to his beloved mate...and maybe, just maybe...his children.

My hands slowly brought him closer with a light tug, and as he closed the distance, I relocated his captured hand to settle over my left breast, where I knew he could feel the steady thrum of my heart. It was a heart that recognized his without fail or question. Recognized him. Needed him. Loved him.

My lips parted, and a new melody came forth—an unrehearsed aria that made the orchestra stop and look up in confusion. But I needed no music to accompany my voice this time. Erik had once declared a heartbeat to be the first music, and that sound was the only rhythm I needed to guide me as I offered my song. It spoke of a new future together...a life without regrets or the anguish of solitude. It was a plea for his heart while offering my own, completely and wholly. It was a desire to remain at his side no matter the consequences, trials or tribulations that may follow any decision we made. It was a wholehearted need for him to say he wanted me with him now and always, to stay beside him as his muse, his inspiration...and his wife.

It was every single promise I had ever made to him in the secrecy of darkness, now lifted to an irrefutable song before an audience confused by its presence, yet altogether captive to listen and wait for his response.

My fingers touched his mask, curving around the edges as I continued singing with eyes fixed on him. I slowly began to drag it away, carefully so he would have time to pull back if he needed. But he did not move, only met my gaze with a trust that made my heart swell with joy. Finally, I drew it fully away from his face and let it fall to the floor.

Poorly-contained gasps and cries of shocked horror drifted up from the audience, but I was determined to hold my ground and not let Erik buckle under the weight of their disgust. Closing the distance in a short stride, I cupped his face between my hands, tracing over the exposed scars with all the reverence and adoration I had ever held within my heart. A few thin tears slipped down from his eyes to leak across my palms, and I immediately brushed them away. He met my eyes with such wonder...such admiration...and such love.

"Love me..." I begged through that lulling aria, drawing ever closer to those lips with only one desire in mind, "...that's all I ask of you."

Without hesitation, my lips met his in a kiss without restraint or fear of any reaction from the onlookers. There was only bliss in feeling his mouth against mine, savoring the heat steadily accumulating between us as he returned my kiss with equal fervor and passion. How could it _not_ be bliss, when it was his kiss upon my lips? How long had I desired to kiss the one I loved with such uninhibited longing, no longer caring for the rules and regulations of society? Too long, that much was certain...far too long.

This moment, however innocent in its simplicity, produced the most intimate sensations I had ever imagined. Lying with him as one was a beautiful thing to experience, but this was somehow different...an irrefutable and unbreakable testament set before a world which would otherwise forbid and condemn our love. There were no more lies, no more illusions or half-spoken truths to consider. There was nothing left to hide...and nothing remained hidden any longer.

His arms slipped around my waist to draw me flush against him, all thought of propriety gone. I smiled ever so slightly against his lips, breaking the kiss only briefly to offer a whisper, "Say it."

Erik offered no resistance. "I love you, Christine," he breathed, "and I will love you until the day I die."

Our moment was interrupted by an uncertain smattering of applause, gradually growing louder as the audience simply assumed the easy truth: this was precisely how the opera was supposed to be concluded, with the beautiful flower falling into the arms of her disfigured but devoted lover. A long and highly anticipated journey finally coming to a well-deserved end. They did not need to know any different. For the rest of the public, this was nothing but another production. They did not understand the grip of reality in which this moment was held, and all for the better.

Haphazardly, the rest of the cast filtered out from the wings to take their necessary bows, allowing Erik to lead me away from the spotlight without much detection. My eyes lifted to find the Vicomte in his designated box, and as I watched him, unnoticed, he stood and exited without incident. His posture carried an attempt to be proud and dignified in his departure, but his shoulders were slumped with the unavoidable weight of defeat. Silently, I breathed relief. Raoul may not have liked the path that I had taken, but at least he was accepting of it...or at least, he knew better than to try and sway me again.

Erik's hand wrapped firmly around mine, drawing his mistress away into the shadows with her the willing captive to his desires. By the time the public's attention returned to Don Juan and Aminta, we were gone.

* * *

><p>The air was cold, carrying tiny crystals upon its breath that glistened in moonlight with the simple elegance of a thousand heaven-sent diamonds. I stood beneath them with silent wonder, catching a multitude of flakes upon my face and eyelashes, losing even more within the wild curls tumbling down my shoulders and about my face. As I stood in the snowy downpour, my eyes vacantly drifted to a far corner of the opera house roof, recalling the memory of an night six months earlier—nearly a lifetime ago—when I had accepted the kiss of a Vicomte and in the process broken an angel's heart.<p>

But such ignorant actions were things of my past, and now there was only the future to consider.

I turned my eyes toward Erik, standing only a short distance away from myself like the silent protector he was and had always been. As he met my gaze, his arms extended in an unspoken invitation that was quickly accepted. Soon the chill of the air came to lessen with every passing moment, winter's arctic breath failing to penetrate the soothing warmth that surrounded me as I stood wrapped within the folds of Erik's cloak and held in his strong embrace. My head rested in the crook of his shoulder, where I could hear the steady rhythm of his pulse and feel the soft exhales of breath rustling through my curls.

"My reckless girl," Erik murmured against my crown; his words might have carried a greater sting if not spoken so fondly, "you'll catch your death in this chill...particularly with your current attire. Why were you so insistent on rushing up here to begin with?"

"The attire is entirely your fault to bear, Erik." I reminded playfully, "As for my insistence on the matter...I just wanted to be as close to heaven as possible...standing here beneath the stars where I can thank the heavens for sending me an angel to call my own."

I felt him smile against my hair with one hand idly combing through the snow-covered curls. "The only angel here is the one wrapped in my arms...I fear I have stolen her from paradise itself and may be punished for my selfish need to keep her forever and always."

"I have every bit of faith in you, _ange_." I replied sweetly, "If lightening happens to descend from the heavens, you will simply have to step out of the way."

He lifted a scolding brow at me, though the heat of his glare diminished as he caught sight of my lowered eyelids and ever-so-slightly protruding lip. For a moment, he didn't look at though he entirely comprehended just what expression I was giving him, but realization dawned only a short time later. I watched with no small amusement as he shook his head and brushed his thumb over my lower lip. "That is a manipulative gesture, Christine...infantile and entirely degrading to your very dignity."

"Then what does that make you for willingly feasting your eyes upon it?" I replied coyly, inching up to steal a kiss with a smile on my lips. He returned the gesture willingly, and when he pulled back, his mouth was fully reciprocating my expression.

"A completely and utterly pathetic fool of a man who is hopelessly in love with you," he answered with a shake of the head, returning my kiss for a longer moment before adding, "and loving every moment of it."

I laughed loud and free, enjoying the broad smile that came to his lips at hearing such a sound. With my hands curled around the back of his neck, I drew ever closer to his face—ravaged and malformed features that only seemed beautiful and striking in their uniqueness, "I love you, _mon amour_..." I whispered, nuzzling his cheek softly, "For always..."

"...and forever," he finished in a breath. Without any further exchange, he proved tired of words and instead strove for actions, wrapping me in a fierce embrace and drawing my lips back to his. The kiss was much more passionate than earlier, fueled by the fire that still smoldered within our veins and urged us past the true point of no return...a moment where passions would fuse and merge as one, where bodies would eagerly succumb to temptation, and vows would be taken to forever seal what was already meant to be...and what would _always_ be. Now and forever.


End file.
